Dovahsil
by adamantineangel
Summary: Different. She had always been different, no more human to those surrounding her than she was Dov in the eyes of the dragons she had been born to slay. It was all she had ever known, the reality she was outwardly indifferent to…the reality she inwardly mourned. Adaria had long ago resigned herself to her fate, to solitude and the power of a dark force inside her. Until she met him.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: Rated M for violence, alcohol use, and bad language. May be mild sexual content later. I'm not sure yet. Also the usual disclaimer: unfortunately, I don't own the rights to Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls or any of the other awesomeness that goes along with it. But I think we already knew that. Anyway, hope you enjoy the story!**

* * *

Different. She had always been different. It wasn't just the way that people stared or shied at her tall, thin form, her blood red hair that hung to her hips in a simple ponytail, and her piercing silver eyes with their slitted ebony pupils; it was something else…the snarl that had the habit of breaking away from her lips when threatened, the feral glint in her eyes when she had killed a foe, the fact that she could hear heartbeats and smell fear. It was everything in her being that told her she was not one of them…of any of them. She was Adaria, the Dragonborn, no more human to those surrounding her than she was Dov in the eyes of the dragons she had been born to slay. It was all she had ever known, the reality she was outwardly indifferent to…the reality she inwardly mourned.

"My thane!"

Adaria gave a nod of silent acknowledgement as the guards outside Dragonsreach brought their fists to their chests in a sort of salute. The pair seemed a little too eager, Adaria thought, and the air was rank with nervous tension. For a moment, a feeling of irritation flooded the woman's body, but it dissipated almost as quickly as it had come. There was no point in becoming angry. It wasn't as if this was an unexpected occurrence.

Adaria was glad she had already passed the guards when the feeling struck. Though her stoic facial expression was as impenetrable as a steel mask, she knew from experience that her eyes had the potential to betray her. Everyone knew an angry dragon when they saw one, and Adaria's eyes were as much a dragon's as those belonging to the once-great Alduin whose bones now decorated the road to Shor's Hall. Her eyes were the only aspect of her being that she had never truly mastered.

The groan of the heavy doors rang hollow in Adaria's ears as she stepped into Dragonsreach, great hall, palace, even, of the jarl of Whiterun. Tall wooden pillars, intricately carved and sturdy as an ancient redwood, supported a high, vaulted ceiling while tongues of fire played in the wide hearth in the center of the room below it.

The warmth was the first to meet the Dragonborn as she stepped inside. The scent of roasting meat soon followed, and the young woman had to swallow quickly to keep from drooling. Damn her dragon sense and its affinity for roasting flesh.

Jarl Balgruuf was seated on his throne speaking to Avennicci when Adaria mounted the stairs that led to the main part of the room, and both men glanced over curiously when they spotted her crossing over to them.

"Dragonborn!" Jarl Balgruuf greeted.

"My jarl," Adaria replied softly, pressing her right fist over her heart and kneeling to one knee in front of the throne.

There was a reason Adaria preferred to serve Jarl Balgruuf over all the other jarls in Skyrim. There were some who reeked with fear of the Dragonborn; there were others who thought to tame her. Jarl Balgruuf was neither. And even now Adaria could sense the pleasant feel of a friendly, honest spirit. This jarl didn't respect her out of fear or ambition. He merely respected her. The feeling put Adaria more at ease, if nothing else, though ease was a relative term for her. Only the faint reek of Avennicci tainted that ease now.

"Please, rise," Jarl Balgruuf smiled, motioning with his hand for emphasis. "There's no need for such formalities, my friend. It has been some time since I last saw you. What can I do for you today?"

"I have just returned from Solitude, my lord. General Tullius asked me to deliver a message to you," Adaria replied, standing to her feet and reaching into the small pouch at her hip.

Immediately the jarl's smile melted into a frown as the woman handed the letter to him.

"What does he want this time?" the man sighed, breaking the seal and unfolding the slip of paper.

Adaria remained silent as the jarl began to read. She knew that the question was more rhetorical than anything, and she wouldn't have been able to answer it in any case. She liked neither Tullius nor Ulfric, and had never had any care for their intentions or ambitions. The peace conference at High Hrothgar had been more traumatic than her battle with Alduin ever could have been, and so Adaria had essentially avoided both parties thereafter. It was only because the general had sought her out that she was compelled to deliver the message the jarl now read, and she had asked no questions when he came to her. If it was meant for her ears, she would hear it in time.

A sigh escaped the jarl's lips and he leaned back slightly, rubbing his temples as though he had suddenly gotten a massive headache. Adaria could sense a feeling of frustration that rolled off him in waves. If she had known how to express it, she might have tried to let him know that she could empathize with his predicament. The very sight of the mewling Imperial quim was enough to make her blood boil. As it was, though, all Adaria could do was stand quietly and wait for further instruction.

For several painfully long moments, the only sounds that reached Adaria's ears were the quiet roar of the fire in the fire pit and the almost inaudible breathing of the 3 of them who were located in the vicinity of the jarl's throne. Adaria was glad when Avennicci broke the silence.

"What does it say, my lord?" the man inquired, his dark eyes fairly glittering with curiosity.

"What it _always_ says," the jarl replied, his tone obviously exasperated. "That Ulfric is a threat to Whiterun and that we need Imperial troops for protection. Tullius is requesting an audience with me a fortnight from now."

"Will you see him?"

"Do I have a choice?"

The jarl sighed again, then gave Adaria a half-hearted smile.

"Thank you, my friend," he said, heaving a forced chuckle. "At least I can say I was forewarned."

At that, the man stood to his feet, turning toward the stairwell that led up to his private quarters in the upper levels of the palace.

"I suppose I had best write a response. Good day, Dragonborn."

Adaria nodded slightly in response. To some, the gesture might be taken as rude, but Jarl Balgruuf only smiled and raised a hand in salutation as he left. Anyone who knew Adaria knew that her responses were always brief and silent.

"Well, I suppose I will return to my duties," Avennicci sighed.

"Avennicci," Adaria said, her voice brisk and low as usual.

"Yes, Dragonborn? What can I do for you?"

"Are there any warrants needing tending to?"

"There are, actually," the man replied, crossing over to a small satchel leaning against the wall and fishing through it.

"Here," he said, handing a stack of papers over to the waiting Dragonborn. "I was just about to send someone out to deliver these to the local innkeepers. Bandits, giants, the usual lot. Take which ever jobs you would like to handle and I'll send the rest out."

Without a word, Adaria sorted through the small stack, then turned toward the exit.

"I'll take them all," she grunted, briefly holding the stack up in the air for emphasis.

"All of them?"

Avennicci sounded appalled, as usual.

"All of them."

She could hear the man trotting along behind her.

"Don't you ever get tired of doing all that work by yourself?"

Adaria paused at the head of the last set of stairs leading to the entrance of Dragonsreach. For a moment, all she did was study the ornate designs on the great doors in front of her. Grand craftsmanship, she had to admit.

"It's fine," she replied at length, setting off again. "I'll let you know when I have finished. Good day, Avennicci."

* * *

Blood pumped like fire through Adaria's veins, thrumming in her ears in a savage war song as the edge of Bolar's Oathblade bit deep into the chest of a nearby bandit. The man's war cry shifted pitch as he howled in pain, but he didn't have long to feel it before the Dragonborn crossed her two curved swords and severed his head from his shoulders. The woman's nostrils flared as warm crimson spattered her chest, arms, face, and neck, and her lips pulled back slightly into a feral snarl of victory as she watched the helmeted head skitter across the dirt floor of the bandit's hideout.

She watched briefly as the headless body crumpled to the floor, then lifted her gaze to something of far more interest: a pile of gold glittering in the half-light of a burning candle on the table. Stepping over the lifeless form before her, Adaria made her way over to the table, running her hand reverently through the pile of septims. She didn't smile, though she thought she might have if she had known how. She loved the sound of coins clinking together.

A dark, heavy feeling pressed against her heart and she shook her head, stepping away from the table and focusing on the cave wall until the feeling passed. Yes, _that_ side of her loved the sound of coins clinking together. Better that she was constantly having to part with septims for healing potions and alchemy ingredients. It kept _that_ side from taking over.

Adaria quickly shoveled the coins into a purse, hiding it securely on her person before turning toward the giant chest located in the corner of the room. A quick perusal of the chest's contents revealed a steel great sword, a jewel-encrusted circlet, and a full set of steel armor. The sword was enchanted, if the burning sensation it gave off at the touch was any indication, but everything else seemed to be rather normal. It ought to fetch a pretty price back in Whiterun, though. It wasn't as though Belethor was particularly picky with what he bought.

The woman grunted as she lifted the great sword from its resting place and slung it onto her back. The weakness in her arms reminded her just how tired she really was. Perhaps fighting off two giants, several mammoths, a saber cat, and an entire bandit clan _was_ a bit much for one day's work. Even for the Dragonborn. Still, it kept her busy, so it was worth it. Avennicci was right, though. She did get tired of doing all this by herself. Not that she'd ever admit it.

Now having firmly secured as much loot as she could possibly carry, Adaria turned back toward the exit. The great sword on her back and the steel armor slung over her shoulder, though, put her off balance, and the next thing the woman knew, she was teetering off to one side. Quickly, she put out one calloused hand, reaching for the table to balance herself. In her haste, a pile of books went scattering across the table and down onto the floor behind it. Out fluttered a small slip of folded paper, which landed neatly on top of the pile that had found its way to the floor.

For a moment Adaria blinked at the slip of stained paper, wondering whether or not she ought to attempt to retrieve it and risk falling on her face. She wasn't about to put the armor down, for fear she wouldn't have the strength to lift it up again. And her stamina potions had long since been used up in her life-or-death match with an angry mammoth herd an hour or so before.

Far be it from the Dragonborn, though, to let her curiosity go unsatiated. Pressing her hip against the table for support, Adaria stretched one long arm out toward the little slip of folded paper. Bandit notes were always so fascinating. If it wasn't a message of secret plots or threats to throw someone to the pit wolves, it was a hint at the location of another hideout or the place where one might find hidden treasure. Whatever it was, one thing was certain: bandits were never boring.

Pressing the fold between her thumb and forefinger, Adaria slid the note open, her slitted silver eyes gliding along every pen stroke. Interesting, indeed! The lines scrawled across the page bent and met to form the vaguest hint of an image, a rocky outcropping to be exact, with a red X placed neatly underneath. This was a treasure map. It had to be. And by the looks of it, it was probably a place out in The Rift, not far from Shor's Stone, if she remembered correctly. Now _there_ was a region she hadn't been to in a while.

Quietly, Adaria slipped the piece of paper into the satchel secured to her waist and, shifting the steel armor slightly to reduce discomfort, set off down the winding tunnel that led to the entrance of the cave. The Rift it was, then. After all, few things could excite a dragon soul the way the thought of a good treasure hunt did. Almost nothing, except for flying. And that…that, Adaria knew, would have to remain in her dreams alone.


	2. Chapter 2

"You have until this evening, Marcurio, or you'll be sleeping in the street. Understood?"

"But Keerava-"

"Understood?"

Harsh reptilian eyes glared the mage down with the ferocity of a dragon and, with a sigh, Marcurio held up his hands in surrender.

"Understood."

"Good. Now go find something useful to do with yourself."

The man pouted slightly as he slunk back over to the side door of the Bee and Barb and collapsed back on his usual bench. Sweet-talking that sharp-tongued Argonian had been about as worthwhile as arguing with a stone wall. Now he had a particularly irritable lizard woman on his hands and no money with which to satisfy her. This was just great.

Still slightly pouting, Marcurio glanced around the main room of the inn, looking for a resource he hadn't exhausted yet. But it was no use. The people in the Bee and Barb tonight were the same who usually frequented the place. And short of asking that slime-ball Brynjolf for work, the Imperial knew there would be no suitable work to be found here. It wasn't as if Riften was a particularly popular tourist attraction. Sometimes he wondered why he even hung around this place. Well…there was the fact that he was constantly spending all his money on mead, a nasty habit he had picked up from the Nords upon coming to Skyrim. And of course, luck would have him end up stuck in Riften of all places.

It was true, he could survive in the wilds on his own if he really wanted to leave. After all, he was a master of the arcane arts, one of the best to come out of the Arcane University in Cyrodiil. Nothing, not draugr deathlords, not fierce sabercats, not trolls or giants or anything of the like, could withstand the power of his magic…and neither could his food. The unfortunate fact of life, of which he would never willingly admit to, was the fact that he was just as likely to incinerate anything he tried to cook as he was to incinerate the average foe. And then, of course, there was the fact that he was woefully unfamiliar with the edible plants in Skyrim. Oh, he could survive the dangers all right. Surviving starvation, though, was an entirely different matter.

He was still mulling over what to do about the fact that he was completely and utterly broke when the main doors of the inn swung open and a stranger stepped into the room. Immediately, Marcurio looked up, and he couldn't help it when a grin crept up onto his face. Aha! Now that was more like it.

She looked familiar enough, but he wasn't sure where he might have seen her before. She was definitely an adventurer, though, which was all that really mattered, and a rich one at that, if he were to take a guess. She was tall, with long, blood-red hair and eyes so sharp and mysterious that Marcurio couldn't help but notice them. She was clad in what looked to be bone armor of some sort, though what kind of bone he couldn't quite guess. Mammoth, maybe? It had to be something big. The color wasn't quite right for bone, but it obviously wasn't metal. The woman also wore two black swords at her hips, both curved and, even though sheathed, menacing. Marcurio had read about that type of sword before. A katana, was it? An ancient style of sword from the lands of Akavir. They must be worth a small fortune. And what with the deadly-looking bow and bulging rucksack she had slung over her shoulders, Marcurio was certain his assumption was correct. She had to be rich. And surely she'd be willing to part with some of those septims to keep him from ending up on the streets of Riften.

Now quite sure that luck had finally turned in his favor, the mage stood up and nearly swaggered over to the bar where the traveler now sat.

"Hey, there," he greeted, leaning against the counter as nonchalantly as possible. "You look like you've been a few places."

He spotted Keerava glaring at him out of the corner of his eye, but he remained unfazed. If he could get this adventurer woman to hire him, just once, he would have enough to get himself out of Riften and on to better prospects. Whiterun, maybe? He had heard all sorts of stories about bandits and dragons attacking travelers and, being a central location in Skyrim, Whiterun seemed a good place for a mage-for-hire to go.

The adventurer didn't look at him as Keerava handed her a bottle of Blackbriar mead. The woman sank her teeth into the cork and yanked it out, sharp white canines glittering in the dim light of the inn. For all the ferocity in the bite, though, she was almost gentle as she removed the cork from between her teeth and set it on the counter. Marcurio watched for a moment as the woman put the bottle to her lips and tipped her head up, her long, pale neck curving back out from the collar of the bone armor she wore. If she didn't look like she could tear him in half with one hand, he thought he might have found her quite beautiful.

"So, I was wondering," he continued, trying to get her attention, "how would you like the help of a master of the arcane in your travels? For a modest fee, of course."

Keerava sniffed slightly at this, but the traveler didn't take her eyes off the mead bottle she held in her hands.

"I can handle myself, thank you," she replied before taking another long drink of mead.

This one was nearly as tough to convince as Keerava, and about as intimidating, too. What was it with females in Skyrim? Did they get them all from the same shop or something? Well, he wasn't giving up that easily.

"Ah, but why settle for just stabbing your foes when you can roast them alive in a gout of arcane fire?"

The woman paused at this, though what her actual thoughts might be, Marcurio couldn't tell. It was like her face was an impenetrable mask, and not even her eyes, the gateways to the soul, betrayed any hint of emotion.

"What makes you think I merely settle for stabbing my foes?" the woman replied bluntly, draining the rest of her bottle of mead. She then reached into the satchel attached at her waist and placed a few glittering septims on the counter, nodding to Keerava who quickly fetched her another bottle of mead.

Marcurio leaned closer, hoping that it would help him get through this adventurer's tough exterior and not end him up on the floor with a black eye…or worse. He could sense the woman tense up as he scooted closer, so he stopped further away than he had planned. Better not to be broke in more ways than one.

"So does that mean you're a mage, too? A spellsword, perhaps?" he inquired, leaning forward to try and get a good look at the woman's face.

"Hardly," the woman responded, biting out the cork in her second bottle of mead and downing another mouthful.

"Aha! See. There you have it. You know, magic can be a wonderful complement to brute force. Besides, the only thing better than a powerful mage fighting at your side is…well, nothing, really."

"Marcurio, quit pestering my other guests," Keerava scolded, swatting at him with the rag she had been using to clean the counter. "She isn't interested."

"She never said she wasn't interested," the mage responded coyly. Then he leaned over the counter and whispered to the Argonian, "And you and I both know I need the coin."

Keerava looked like she might have responded to that, but a quick glance to the side made her freeze in place, and when Marcurio glanced over, he found himself staring into a pair of harsh silver eyes. Those eyes… If they had been amber, they might have even looked like the eyes of a dragon.

The Argonian was obviously startled when Adaria fixed a steely gaze on the innkeeper and the obnoxious mage who was currently sitting far too close for the Dragonborn's own comfort. No need to sniff the air to figure it out. The one called Keerava was visibly trembling. The one Adaria had meant to scare off, though…

The mage…what was his name? Marcurio? Definitely an Imperial. The man had turned when Keerava froze, and his dark brown eyes locked onto Adaria's sharp silver ones. Unfortunately for her, though, he seemed to become more interested in her than he was before she had done that. She tensed as the man leaned forward, and she backed up slightly to keep his face from getting too close to hers. Any further back, and she just knew she'd fall off the stool on which she sat.

"Your eyes are…fascinating," the man said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Quite unusual. Or, at least, I've never seen anyone with eyes like yours in Cyrodiil or here in Riften. Is that…common, here in Skyrim?"

For once, Adaria could feel a look of surprise creeping onto her face, but she quickly swallowed it down before it could become too obvious. So he…didn't know. He really didn't know. How was it that all of Nirn and Oblivion and everywhere in between seemed to know who she was except for this man? And furthermore, even the few who didn't know she was the Dragonborn usually still seemed to shy away from her. Yet this man wasn't even remotely fazed. This was more problematic than she had originally realized.

"No. This isn't common," she muttered, closing her eyes as she took another swig of mead.

"Ah. I see. Well, they are very fascinating, if you don't mind my saying."

As if her minding what he said would keep him from saying it.

"So," he continued, "how about it? I'll just work for you for a bit and then be on my way. And you'll have the privilege of fighting alongside a master of the arcane."

Adaria drew in a deep breath, then opened her mouth to speak. What came out of her mouth, though, was something far different from what she had intended to say.

"How much?"

Wait. What?

"500 septims," Marcurio replied, his face beaming with victory.

"Fine."

No. That wasn't what she meant to say, either.

"So when do we start?"

This wasn't happening. There was no way. Since when did she allow _anyone_ to follow her?

"Tomorrow morning. We leave at 6 sharp. Don't be late," she stated bluntly, separating out 500 septims and handing them over to the mage. He looked happier about convincing her than about getting the money he obviously wanted.

This was madness. Sheogorath incarnate. If the god of madness himself had shown up then and asked her to tea, she could not have been more appalled. What in Oblivion did she think she was doing?

"Keerava," she said, shoving 10 gold septims across the counter toward the bewildered innkeeper, "a room, please."

"Of course," the Argonian nodded, snatching up the septims as though she was afraid they'd disappear right in front of her. She held out a key in trade and pointed in the direction of the main doors. "Up the stairs and straight across."

"I'll pay for another night in my regular room," Marcurio quickly added, flashing Adaria a brilliant smile. She had to make a concerted effort not to wrinkle her nose at him.

Without another glance, the Dragonborn took the key offered her and strode across the room toward the stairs. She listened to the dull thud of her boots against the wooden boards and struggled not to smack herself in the face. _What_ had she just done?


	3. Chapter 3

The sky was still dark and grey as Marcurio half stumbled out the door of the Bee and Barb the next morning. The adventurer woman was already waiting for him, leaning back against the railing overlooking the water in the channel below, her eyes fixed on the grey expanse above. Sleep had not done anything to cure the stiff demeanor that seemed to characterize her. The mage rubbed his face to wake himself up a little more, then trotted up to his new employer.

"I'm here," he said with as much cheer as was appropriate for being awake at 6 in the morning.

The woman merely nodded before setting off toward the main gate of the city. Marcurio trotted after her.

"You know," he said as the gates swung open and the pair passed under the thick walls that surrounded the city, "we really didn't do proper introductions last night. I'm Marcurio. And you?"

The woman glanced at him briefly before turning her attention back to the road. No response.

"So…what should I call you? Not, 'Hey, you,' right?"

"It will suffice," the woman responded tersely.

Marcurio raised one eyebrow in curiosity.

"You're not serious, are you?"

Silence.

"Don't tell me you don't have a name."

More silence.

"I could give you a name, I suppose. Or a nickname, at least. How about…Dragon Eyes. What do you think…or not."

The glare from those sharp silver eyes told him, "Don't you dare."

"All right. Hey You, it is, then."

For several moments, the pair traveled in silence, Marcurio wondering all the while what he could possibly do to get his new employer to say more than a few words at a time. It seemed unwise, though, to interrupt her, particularly now as her sharp silver eyes darted back and forth along the road. She was searching for something. But what?

All at once, however, she stopped, pivoted on her heel with the precision of a marching legionnaire, and set off at a brisk pace out into the forest beyond. It was a wonder she could move so fast, what with the weight of all she wore and carried. Marcurio nearly had to jog to catch up with her, and by the time he did, she already had a piece of paper in her hand.

"What is that?" he questioned as the woman studied the paper intently.

In response, she nearly shoved the paper in his face so he could look at the image drawn there.

"Treasure map," she replied, giving him little time to study the picture before she folded it up and put it back in her satchel.

"Oh, so you're a treasure hunter," Marcurio grinned, his eyes lighting up slightly.

"I am many things."

"Like what?"

A piercing roar shattered the stillness of the morning air, and the woman stopped abruptly in her tracks. Her whole body scrunched up like a spring ready to snap, her feet braced apart and her hands hovering in the air, ready to draw her two black swords at a moment's notice as her eyes searched the sky that peeked through the tree branches. Instantly Marcurio was alert, too. He had never heard that sort of roar before. What manner of beast could make such a sound? And why did the woman look to the sky instead of the ground? It couldn't be a…dragon, could it?

"This way," the adventurer said suddenly, rushing toward a rocky outcropping on the hillside.

Marcurio followed suit, and he didn't speak as the two of them hunkered down underneath the stone overhang. A massive black shadow passed overhead as another roar echoed over the landscape, and gusts of wind stirred by enormous wings sent dirt and forest debris spinning in all directions. Neither one spoke until the last distant roar faded on the air.

"Was that a-?"

"Dragon?" the woman interrupted, stepping out from their hiding spot and looking up at the sky, her left hand resting on the hilt of the sword attached to that side of her hip. "Yes."

"So you've seen one before?" Marcurio questioned as he stepped up next to her. "What was it like? Did you get the chance to fight it? Obviously, if you did, you survived the encounter."

For a moment, the woman stared at him blankly. Then with that, she turned and continued walking.

"Regardless of whether or not the treasure is still there when we find the spot we're looking for, you can consider your terms of service complete as soon as we locate where it was buried," she said bluntly, not even looking back to see whether Marcurio had followed or not.

The man heaved a sigh, then trotted after her. For whatever reason, this woman really did not seem to like him. At all.

* * *

_I am many things_.

How ironic. How bitterly ironic. That a dragon should appear the moment the mage asked her what she was, other than a treasure hunter. Not that she was a dragon either, though. She was many things…and yet, she was nothing, too. She was Dragonborn, bearing the blood of a dragon, and yet she was not one of them. She was a Nord by birth, if her physical appearance was any indication, and yet she was not human, either. Dragonborn, Nord, treasure hunter, swordsman, thane...people put many titles, human titles, to her name, yet she wasn't human. Dovahkiin…joor…well, perhaps the dragons were closer to the truth than anyone. Joore. Mortalkind. That, she was. Mortal. Finite. She was glad for the dragon's timely interruption in a way, though. The question of what she was had been happily forgotten.

"Was that a-?"

"Dragon? Yes."

"So you've seen one before? What was it like? Did you get the chance to fight it? Obviously, if you did, you survived the encounter."

What was it about this man that could startle her so much? Perhaps it was the way that he was innocently oblivious to who she truly was. Had she seen a dragon before? Of course she had. Many times. But admitting to that would make him question the reasons for the numerous sightings. Or, at least, he would want to know about the times she had seen them, and dancing around the fact that one of her first memories of Skyrim was staring into the face of an angry black dragon would not help her any.

What was it like to see one? What was it like to be clad in rags, hands bound, head resting against the blood-wetted stone of a headsman's block, staring into the face of an ancient monster, feeling the earth tremble as though it would fall apart at any moment? What was it like to stand atop the rubble of a once-sturdy stone tower, clad in armor she had pulled off a corpse, knowing that it would probably protect her no more from a dragon's fire and teeth than it had the previous owner whom she had killed with her own two hands? What was it like to stand in the land of the dead, Sovngarde, alongside three ancient heroes, preparing to fight an enemy said to be immortal, undefeatable, so fierce that even the souls of the dead were not safe in his presence? What was it like? Frightening. Terrifying, even. But admitting to that would make her weak…vulnerable.

And had she ever fought one before? If he had known what armor she wore, he wouldn't have asked that question, for the scales that had protected the bodies of the once-great Sahloknir and Vuljotnaak now protected Adaria herself. Their memories, too, had become a part of her. Every dragon she had ever slain, ancient and magnificent as they were, had once born memories that spanned hundreds of human lifetimes. Though their souls were no more, swallowed up in the power of Dragonborn blood, their memories remained as fragments in Adaria's mind, dormant in the light of day, but a torment to her as they wove themselves together in the night, patchworks of lives her dragon soul longed for yet would never know. Yes, she had fought a dragon before.

Afraid that her dragon eyes would betray her, Adaria turned away from her unwelcome follower and set off up the hill.

"Regardless of whether or not the treasure is still there when we find the spot we're looking for, you can consider your terms of service complete as soon as we locate where it was buried," she said, refusing to look back at the man who trudged along behind her.

He had to go. He couldn't stay. If he stayed with her, he might get far more than hurt. He might find out who she really was. How would he respond? She couldn't say. And what was more, she was actually afraid to know.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm so hungry," Marcurio whined, trudging along behind the adventurer. "Can't we stop for a bite to eat?"

As if on cue, a whining grumble echoed up from his stomach. The mage sighed as his new employer trudged onward. What was the use of having coin when one still inevitably starved to death? Marcurio did wonder, though, if he had done something to anger her, as the woman hadn't so much as looked at him ever since he asked about the dragons. A touchy subject, maybe? It would make sense if she had lost someone dear to her thanks to a dragon. She did seem to be familiar with them, but even with as fierce as she appeared to be, she seemed to be in no hurry to face one of the great beasts in combat. Well, that was perfectly normal. Only a fool with a death wish would go looking to fight a dragon. Not that Marcurio would turn down the chance to prove his skills should the opportunity arise.

_I am many things_.

And then there was that remark. She had something to hide, he was sure of it, but Marcurio was fairly certain that trying to pry it out of her would be detrimental to his health. Some things were best left as they were. And in any case, the mage had learned a long time ago that there were things he just didn't want to know, either.

Just then, the woman came to a stop below a rocky outcropping. She held up the treasure map, pursed her lips, then nodded, as though to say, "This is the place." Not that she would have actually said it. It was like speaking was against her religion or something. Maybe she had taken a vow of silence. Marcurio wished she had. At least it wouldn't feel as if she had a vendetta against him.

"So this is the place?" the mage asked. He had to get her talking somehow. The silence was oppressive.

She nodded, kneeling down under a rocky overhang and brushing at the dirt with one hand.

"Here," Marcurio said, kneeling down next to her and pulling out an elvin dagger. "Allow me."

The woman snorted slightly, and her eyebrows twitched as though she might have wanted to glare, but a moment later it was back to the same old passive mask, and she sat back as Marcurio began to cut away at the hard-packed earth with his dagger. So even that didn't get a rise out of her. Damn, this woman was tough.

Marcurio was about to complain that she should help him at least when, all of a sudden, he felt the blade scrape against something other than dirt. The woman seemed to have heard it, too, because her ears twitched slightly as she sat forward. Quickly, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and, pointing to the opposite side from where she sat, she instructed quickly, "Dig over there."

_Back to the three-word sentence_, Marcurio sighed to himself, doing as he was instructed. But, at least she had said something. He wondered if he could convince her to talk more.

"I am an apprentice wizard, not some sort of hound," he huffed, watching the woman out of the corner of his eye.

Her face remained impassive, but she did take the bait.

"Apprentice? I thought you were a master of the arcane."

Ouch. Well, she _would_ catch onto that little slip of the tongue, wouldn't she?

"One can be a master of the arcane without being a master wizard," the man replied, waving his dagger in the air for emphasis.

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"I didn't realize the arcane arts were so simple."

"They are not."

"And yet one can be a master of them without being a master wizard."

"In a manner of speaking. But one would have to understand the nuances of magic to truly understand what I mean."

"Just shut up and dig."

A chuckle escaped Marcurio's lips as he turned back to digging.

"Ah, so there _is_ a personality locked up inside you somewhere."

Instantly, the woman's expression went stone cold, and the man's smile faded when he saw it. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. For whatever reason, she seemed to have an avid dislike of the thought of expressing any sort of emotion.

By now, the pair had managed to clear away the dirt that surrounded the lid to the chest they had just discovered, and the woman waved him off as she moved to kneel in front of it. Marcurio watched as the woman's hands skimmed deftly along the rim of the lid, testing it, fingering the lock to see if it might budge. When it didn't, she reached into the pouch at her hip, producing a small knife and a specialized pick that the mage recognized all too well.

"Are you a…thief…by any chance?" Marcurio asked as he watched the woman test the lock, working the pick around in search of the mechanism to unlock the chest.

The woman's lips pulled into the semblance of a snarl.

"No," she responded sharply. "I am an adventurer. That is all."

There came a light snap, and the woman placed the lockpicking tools back in her satchel. Then she pressed on the lock and lifted the chest's lid, the rusted hinges squeaking in protest. Marcurio couldn't help but peek over the woman's shoulder, wondering what kind of treasure might be hiding inside.

"Anything of interest?" he asked.

Quietly, the adventurer pulled out handfuls of items: armor, coin bags, jewelry, weapons. It was a wonder that the bandits, or whoever buried the treasure, had managed to fit so much into one chest. The woman ran her hand along the bottom of the chest, then closed the lid and turned back to all the loot she had pulled out. Her hand went first to the large bag of coins, and Marcurio thought that for a moment he saw a wild light come to her eyes when she poured some of the gold into her hands. It didn't last long, though, for she closed her eyes tightly as though to clear her mind and, placing the coins back in the bag, handed it all over to Marcurio.

"There," she said, sorting through the rest of the loot. "Payment for your trouble. You're free to go."

Marcurio blinked disbelievingly at her, then looked at the large bag in his hands. Was she serious?

"This is…a lot of money," he protested. "I can't possibly go off with all of this. Don't you want to take at least some of it?"

"The items here are, collectively, worth more than what you hold," the woman replied bluntly. "It is of no concern to me."

"You plan on carrying all of it?"

"Yes."

"Is that possible?"

"I am accustomed to carrying large numbers of items at one time."

Marcurio watched as the woman bundled up the rest of the loot and began to sling things over her shoulders, and the mage tried not to let his jaw drop to his lap. No wonder the woman was rich. She was like a pack mule.

Without a word, the woman set off back the way they had come, and Marcurio scrambled to his feet, trotting after her and feeling very self-conscious about the large amount of money he now carried. There was no way he could hide that huge bag on his person, and he was quite sure it was bound to attract the attention of every cutthroat in the Rift.

As Marcurio followed after the adventurer, he was well aware of the fact that she had increased her pace slightly. She was obviously trying to leave him behind.

"You're not going to just leave me out here, are you?" Marcurio asked, increasing his pace to keep up with the woman in front of him.

"You're a master of the arcane," the woman replied, not slowing her pace or looking back at the man trailing behind her. "I'm sure you can take care of yourself."

"Well, of course, but even a master of the arcane is vulnerable when carrying this amount of coin."

"That's why you drop it when you go into a fight."

Again the woman quickened her pace.

"I take it you're an expert at being waylaid," Marcurio stated, also increasing his own pace.

The woman sighed ever so slightly, as though she was becoming irritated.

"Perhaps," she replied coolly.

"Perhaps means yes, right?"

"I can take that money back, if it makes you so uncomfortable."

"You're avoiding the question," Marcurio chided, wagging a finger at her.

"And you just avoided my statement," she retorted.

"That's because you avoided my question."

"Then we must be content with being mutually avoided," the adventurer stated as the pair came out into a large clearing. "I'm sure you are quite capable of handling yourself even with the coin. It is not necessary for you to follow me. You have quite fulfilled your work obligations to me."

Marcurio quickened his pace again, coming to walk at the woman's side.

"You know," he said, flashing her a playful smile, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

"Who said I wasn't?" the woman responded, not even looking over at him.

"Ouch. That's cold. So why, I wonder, did you hire me if you disliked me so much?"

"Why, indeed."

"You don't know why you hired me?"

"No."

Marcurio's grin broadened.

"Perhaps you like me more than you care to admit."

"Hardly."

"Hardly means a little bit, you know."

All of a sudden, the woman came to an abrupt halt, turning to look at Marcurio with an expression so fierce and sharp she might have pierced him through if it had been possible.

"You need to leave, Marcurio."

"Why?"

"I am not someone who should be followed. Even if I wanted your company, my path is more treacherous than you know. I will not be responsible for your life."

For a moment, the only sound that broke the stillness was the hiss of the wind through the trees surrounding the clearing. For the first time since they had met, Marcurio felt that the woman was actually being honest. But what…?

He might have asked what she meant, but at that moment a roar just above them shook the ground underneath their feet. The beating of heavy wings against air echoed over the clearing like the pounding of a drum, and Marcurio only barely had time to dart out of the way as a river of flames scored the spot on which he had been standing. Dragon! The dragon had returned!

The mage turned on his heels to see the adventurer woman with her swords drawn, her loot dropped at the foot of a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, her eyes searching the sky. Quickly, Marcurio dropped his heavy bag of coins at the base of a tree and turned back toward the clearing, summoning ice magic as he did so. If the dragon breathed fire, surely it would be more vulnerable to ice than to flames. A smile came to his lips as the dark shadow roared again and glided back towards them. Now this was more like it!

"Get out of here, you fool!" the woman shouted at him from where she stood at the opposite edge of the clearing.

"I'm not employed by you anymore, remember?" Marcurio grinned back, sending an ice spike in the dragon's direction as it came within view. "And in any case, what better way to prove my skills than to test them against a dragon?"

The dragon roared angrily as the ice spike lodged itself in the creature's flank, and both the mage and the woman had to dodge as searing flames plummeted to earth from the dragon's mouth. Strange, but Marcurio almost thought he heard words in that river of fire.

"I will not be responsible for your life," the woman shouted back. "Now get out of here!"

In response, Marcurio sent two ice spikes toward the dragon, and the creature dropped to the ground in search of its assailant. Before it could look, though, the woman was at its neck, hacking away at its iron scales. That was when Marcurio noticed it. The beast's scales…the adventurer's armor…they almost looked the same. Could it be? Could the adventurer actually be wearing dragon-scale armor? Was that even possible?

Ebony blades bit deep into the dragon's neck and it swerved around toward the woman, iron jaws snapping. The adventurer spun like a top, her dual swords slicing at the dragon like a saw blade, but the move left the woman vulnerable for a few split seconds. It was all the time the dragon needed. Razor-sharp teeth sank into the woman's shoulder and might have taken her shoulder completely off if not for the sturdy armor she wore. Surprisingly, the woman barely flinched, and using her free arm, she swung her sword up, striking the dragon on the jaw. Almost as if on reflex, the beast jerked its head to the side, sending the woman flying. Her back struck a tree and her body slumped to the ground, her face pressed against churned-up earth.

The dragon turned to finish the job, but Marcurio ran forward, taking the opportunity to release a volley of ice spikes on the creature's flank.

"You will die this day, dragon!" he yelled as cold ice left his hands. He only half believed his own words, but oh what stories he could tell if he managed to defeat a dragon!

The attack had its desired effect. The creature turned its attention away from the limp form of the woman lying on the opposite side of the clearing, roaring furiously at the mage who had just turned the dragon's hindquarters into an icy pincushion. The creature let out a stream of flames from its enormous mouth, but Marcurio dodged to the side and out of the way of the attack. Unfortunately, he forgot about there being another end to this monster.

Quickly, Marcurio threw up a ward spell as the dragon's club-like tail lashed like a whip toward him, but even the ward did little against the impact. The heavy, armored length struck the mage in the chest, and the man heard a sickening series of snaps as he was propelled backward, his body skidding and rolling across the ground before coming to a stop a good 50 feet away from where he had begun.

The pain was extraordinary. Marcurio was fairly certain he had never felt such debilitating pain before. It was so bad, he almost forgot about how hungry he was. Almost.

The instinct to survive forced him to sit up, but his movements were slow. He was beginning to regret that he had ignored the healing aspect of his training. If only he hadn't been so damn focused on blowing things up. But then, young students never truly appreciated their education, did they? No. Because there was no way to comprehend what the future might hold. At least, Marcurio was fairly certain that when he had been studying at the Arcane University, he hadn't anticipated ever having to face off against a dragon.

Swallowing back the pain that nearly made him ill, Marcurio opened his eyes, squinting in the direction of the dragon. Heavy footsteps shook the earth, a shadow fell over him, and when Marcurio looked up, he was looking into a pair of furious amber eyes. He should have been more frightened than he was. But for a split second, all he could think was, _If they were silver, those could be _her_ eyes_.


	5. Chapter 5

Damn it. Damn it all to every plane of Oblivion and back. And maybe to Oblivion again after that. Of all the times a dragon could attack, it had to be right here, right now.

Quickly, Adaria dodged to the side as the dragon projected a river of flames toward herself and Marcurio. If only he had listened. If only he had left when she had told him to. At the very least, she wouldn't be worrying now whether she would be able to keep the foolish mage alive while defeating an ancient dragon.

"Get out of here, you fool!" Adaria shouted as the dragon circled back around.

If the man ran now, he might have the chance to escape with his life.

"I'm not employed by you anymore, remember?" Marcurio grinned back, sending an ice spike in the dragon's direction as it came within view. "And in any case, what better way to prove my skills than to test them against a dragon?"

A surge of rage flooded the woman's body at his words. Idiot. Fool. Bloody annoyance. She couldn't find a good word to call him, and no insult adequate enough to suffice either.

The dragon roared angrily as the ice spike lodged itself in the creature's flank, and both Adaria and Marcurio had to dodge as searing flames plummeted to earth from the dragon's mouth. Finally, the woman gave up on trying to find a word to call the pig-headed mage and settled, instead, on one final attempt to convince him to leave.

"I will not be responsible for your life!" she shouted back at the mage. "Now get out of here!"

In response, Marcurio sent two ice spikes toward the dragon, and the creature dropped to the ground in search of its assailant. Bloody Oblivion. Bloody, bloody, freaking bloody Oblivion. The man had a death wish. Adaria was sure of it. It was bad enough fighting against a dragon while wearing armor. But that flimsy little robe wasn't going to do a damn thing against a dragon's dagger-like teeth.

Before the creature could spot Marcurio, Adaria darted forward, ebony blades slicing at iron scales. It might have been beneficial to use a Shout at that moment, but in a way, Adaria foolishly hoped that she could somehow keep her stubborn follower from learning her secret. If only they could both walk away from this without the mage learning that she was actually the Dragonborn. Yes, it was a foolish hope, indeed.

One of Adaria's katanas bit deep into the dragon's neck and the creature swerved around toward the woman, iron jaws snapping. Quickly, Adaria spun like a top, her dual swords slicing at the dragon like a saw blade. Her left foot touched ground again as her swords came lower to her hips. Her arms felt heavy, but she coiled her muscles, preparing herself to unleash another attack. Unfortunately, the move she had just executed left her vulnerable for a few split seconds. It was all the time the dragon needed. Razor-sharp teeth sank into Adaria's shoulder and she could hear dragon scale crunching under the strength of the bite. The creature might have taken her shoulder completely off if not for the barrier the scales put between her flesh and the dragon's jaws.

Suppressing a scream, Adaria swung her sword up, striking the dragon on the jaw. Almost as if on reflex, the beast jerked its head to the side, sending the woman flying. Her back struck a tree and her body slumped to the ground, her face pressed against the churned-up earth. And for a moment, everything went black.

* * *

Every encounter with a dragon was a face-off against fate, Adaria supposed. She had lost track of the number of dragons she had killed since coming to Skyrim. Dragon Hunter, some called her. More like Dragon Hunted, if they asked her…which they never did. Still, she had somehow managed to survive all the encounters. Sometimes even with two or three dragons at a time. Luck seemed to favor her. Now, though, she wondered if that might change.

Adaria wasn't sure how long she had been out when consciousness returned to her. Well, she wasn't dead yet. The pain that coursed up and down her body attested to that. She tested her fingers, gently flexing each one to be sure they still worked. She breathed a sigh of relief when they did. Channeling whatever willpower she had left, the woman pushed herself up onto her elbows. Thankfully, the armor had protected her from a good deal of the damage she might have otherwise taken, but she flinched when the pain in her left shoulder exploded like a fire rune. The dragon's bite had done some damage, of that she was sure, though the extent of the damage was difficult to tell. Warm, wet fluid coursed down her chest, and she could see the barest hints of red beginning to trickle down her arm as well.

Dragging herself up into a sitting position, Adaria glanced across the clearing. Her blood ran cold when she spotted Marcurio on the ground some hundred feet away. He had his right arm crossed over his chest as though perhaps he had broken some ribs…or all of them…while the red dragon reared up in the air, moving out of arm reach and pulling its head back as it prepared to douse the wounded mage in fire.

Quickly, the Dragonborn ripped her satchel open, yanking the cork out of a vial of healing potion and draining the contents down her throat. She then stumbled to her feet, and shouted, "Yol toor shul!"

The woman watched as blazing fire spewed from her mouth and rolled over the dragon's flanks. It wouldn't cause much damage, she knew that, but it would certainly get the creature's attention. It had the desired effect, for the dragon quickly forgot about the injured mage in favor of the Thu'um-weilding Dragonborn. After all, no self-respecting dragon could ignore that sort of challenge.

Picking up Bolar's Oathblade, which lay at her feet, the magic of a healing spell glowing in her other hand, Adaria circled around to the far end of the clearing as the dragon banked on the wind and turned to her. She waited until the healing spell mended some of her more serious wounds, then released the spell and reached into a pocket of her satchel. Pulling out a familiar vial, she bit the cork out and downed the contents, a warm sensation suffusing her body with a fiery light. Then she braced herself as the dragon swooped toward her, a river of fire scorching the ground at her feet. The potion seemed to do the trick, though, as the fire licked harmlessly around her and flickered out.

The dragon came around for another attack, now more angry than it had been a moment ago. It was still airborne, though, which was a problem since Adaria's bow was far out of reach and not much use to her in any case. With a sigh, the woman took in a deep breath, feeling the heaviness on her lungs dissipate as her body recovered from her last Shout. Then turning toward the dragon as it flew in close, she shouted, "Joor zah frul!"

The Shout echoed like a strike of thunder, mingling with the dragon's piercing wail as mortality incarnate suffused its body in a dark glow, rendering its wings useless as it dropped to earth. With the dragon still dazed from the ferocity of the Shout, Adaria darted toward the beast before her. Using the dragon's shoulder as a springboard, the woman bounded onto the top of the creature's head. The dragon shook its head, snapping its jaws as though that would somehow make it possible to sink its teeth into its assailant's flesh, but the woman drove her sword deep into the beast's skull, through that soft area between skull bone that she was all too familiar with.

"Dovahkin!" the dragon wailed in rage as it shook in its final death throes. "Dur hio! Zu'u fen kos nahkriindaal."

Adaria clung fiercely to the handle of her sword with both hands as the dragon tossed its head, lurched forward, then collapsed against scorched earth. Then, once the body had stilled, the woman pulled her blade clean and jumped to the ground as the dragon's form slowly dissolved into flame and ash. Heavy, bleached bone protruded from the burning body as a strange light, like an aurora turned into a stream on the wind, rose up from the dragon's body, suffusing Adaria in a familiar glow. And for a moment, she was not Adaria, the Dragonborn, anymore. She was something else, somewhere else, far away and cloaked in the past.

* * *

Lotlokkul. Great-Sky-Son. Great, indeed he had been. And ageless. Enormous red wings unfurled beneath the wide azure expanse of the sky. Wind whipped like a gale beneath the red wings, cool and smooth as silk against iron-hard scales, as it lifted up the heavy mass of the dragon's body. The earth spread out like a patchwork of colors far below, trees and animals little more than flitting specks in the shadow of the Great-Sky-Son. To one side, Lake Ilinalta shimmered like a gem in the warm afternoon sun; to the other side, the Monahven stretched like a towering throne toward the sky, its snow-capped peak lording itself over the rest of the countryside, which looked small and insignificant in comparison.

Lungs strong enough to release a sound that could be heard for miles around let out a thunderous roar, searching out allies and challenging foes. For a moment, silence met the Great-Sky-Son. Then, another roar greeted him. A dark form rose up from a stone perch, black wings unfurling and lifting a prince among dragons up into the sky. Fire greeted fire as the dark dragon passed over the red one.

"Lotlokkul!" the dark dragon, whose scales shimmered like blackened amethyst, called to the red dragon, his voice a deep rumble. "My brother, why have you come here?"

"Krinahdrog, _bormahkul_, Alduin has fallen. The _joor_, the Dovahkiin, has slain him!"

The dark dragon let out a roar of fury that caused the pines he soared above to tremble like an army of frightened soldiers.

"_Pahlok_, _folaas-sos_, _joorsivaas_!" Krinahdrog cursed angrily, landing on a sturdy cliff, muscles flexing beneath dark amethyst scales. "Arrogant, false-blooded creature! To dare take the name of _dovah_, then slay the god himself.I will tear him to pieces! Where is he? Where is this _Dovahkiin_?"

He nearly spat out the name.

"I do not know," Lotlokkul responded, landing close to his brother. "I have not found him. I have found Paarthurnax, though. He thinks himself _thuri_, as his brother Alduin was, that he might call all _dov_ to his bidding."

"Paarthurnax, _fronkriid_," the dark amethyst dragon snarled. "That traitor will never be Alduin. He does not even deserve the title of _Alduin bormahkul_. I care little for him now, though when Alduin was _thuri_ I would have gladly tasted that traitor's blood on my tongue. What do you know of the Dovahkiin?"

"Only what we all know," the red dragon responded. "That he is strong, and that he wields the Thu'um. And if he slays you, not even one such as Alduin could raise you again. I was searching for those who know of the Dovahkiin when I found you."

"We shall find him!" Krinahdrog declared, spreading his massive wings and launching himself into the sky. "And when we do, he will know true terror."

* * *

It felt like it had lasted an eternity, though Adaria knew it was little more than the breath of a moment that the memory flashed through her mind as the soul of the ancient dragon seeped into her body, melding together with her own dragon soul. Though she had seen fragments of memories when absorbing other dragon souls, this was the most complete memory she had ever seen, bearing with it a dark hatred comparable only to Alduin himself.

Adaria stumbled as the memory lifted. For a moment, she felt like she was falling, and she threw her feet and arms outward for balance. Then the memory and the weight of the power vanished and a sense of loss and exhaustion flooded her body. Dragon memories, how ever fragmented they might be when seen, always left her feeling as though a piece of her was missing.

It took some effort for Adaria to sheath Bolar's Oathblade, but at last she managed to slip the sword into its covering before retrieving her other sword and sheathing it as well. Then with one trembling hand, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a vial of stamina potion, downing the repulsive liquid before turning her attention to the matter at hand: Marcurio.

The mage had managed to pull himself up against a nearby tree. He didn't look to be in as much pain as he had previously been in, so Adaria assumed he had used a healing spell on himself some time after she had drawn the dragon's attention away from him. Still, though, she knew she ought to at least check on him. His eyes were wide with wonder when she came close.

"You're the Dragonborn, aren't you?" the man asked as Adaria approached.

"I told you to leave," the woman replied, unbuckling her satchel from around her waist and dropping it gently on the ground beside him.

"That was incredible! So that's what you've been hiding all this time," Marcurio continued as Adaria crossed her arms over her chest and turned away from him. "Let's see. I know I heard someone say your real name before. It was…Amia? Ada? Adalina?"

"Adaria," the woman interrupted curtly.

"Right!" the mage responded, snapping his fingers for emphasis. "Adaria! I knew it was an A name."

For a moment, Adaria blinked down at him. He had seen her bring down a dragon. He knew she was the Dragonborn. No doubt he had heard stories, if exaggerated, about her. And yet…she still did not smell any hint of nervousness about him. It was as it had been at the Bee and Barb. Curiosity, not fear, prevailed.

Quickly, Adaria turned her back to him and began walking toward the pile of loot she had dropped at the base of a tree when the dragon had shown up.

"Where are you going?" Marcurio questioned.

"There are potions you can use in that satchel," Adaria responded, pulling piles of stuff off the ground and onto her shoulders. "Plenty of healing potions. Stamina potions, too, so you shouldn't have to stop to rest between here and Riften. If you need to escape, there are a few invisibility potions you can make use of as well."

He seemed to realize she was leaving him, and so he struggled to his feet.

"Wait! Dragonborn-"

Furiously, Adaria turned on him.

"Don't-" she began to snarl, but quickly she bit her tongue and turned away.

Then without another word, she rushed off, nearly running despite the weight of the items she carried. She had to get away. She had to get far away. The dark shadow of her dragon soul flickered on black wings over her heart and mind, replaying the echo of a memory she had long tried to forget. She had to escape. From it. From herself. From him. She couldn't allow _that_ to happen ever again. And especially not to Marcurio.


	6. Chapter 6

She had meant to go farther than she actually did. Darkwater Crossing or maybe Windhelm, even. Instead, though, Adaria thought perhaps she could still see the faint outline of Riften off in the distance as she paused on a hill overlooking the terrain that surrounded the capital of the Rift. Dusk had already fallen. Night would draw its ebony cloak over her soon, bringing with it all sorts of nasty things, and she was far from any suitable place to camp. Not that she was unaccustomed to cold, sleepless nights leaning against a tree or boulder, afraid to dose off for fear of a wolf or dragon or, worse yet, a vampire to stumble across her path and find her a fitting appetizer for its nightly meal. It was just that she preferred the relative safety of a bed in a nice, warm inn. An inn like the Bee and Barb, perhaps.

The thought of a certain obnoxious mage crossed the woman's mind and she vehemently shook her head as though that would somehow shake the thought out of her brain. It didn't, though, and she couldn't help but wonder if Marcurio had made it back to Riften safely. Not as if he couldn't take care of himself. Master of the arcane or no, he had held his own against a dragon, and that said something, at least, about his ability to survive. And then, of course, there was also the fact that she had given him, very literally, all of her potions. If he couldn't make it from the region around Shor's Stone back to Riften with all of that to help him, he was a hopeless cause anyway. Not that the thought was any more comforting to the nagging little voice in the back of Adaria's head, though.

She should have made sure he made it back safely. Especially since there were dragons about. But then, would he have been any safer with her? Not only was she the Dragonborn, which was like walking around all of Nirn with a giant target on the back of her head, but she also had a dragon soul…a powerful and unruly side to her that made her more beast than human. It would not be tamed and it certainly would not be controlled. At best, it could be caged. No, Adaria had learned long ago that the dragon side and the human side of her soul would never live in peaceful coexistence. She had tried. And she had learned the hard way.

Well, what was done was done.

Quietly Adaria turned to head north, but she paused when the sight of a campfire caught her eye, flickering in the distance like a star fallen to earth. It would be a good half-hour walk, she guessed, and there was no guarantee the camp's occupants wouldn't be hostile, but a fire was a fire. She had no axe to chop her own wood or matches to get a fire going, and gods help anyone within her vicinity if she tried to start a campfire with her dragon breath. Who knew, but she might burn down all of Tamriel before she got that fire put out. She had shared a camp with some hunters before. Perhaps she could do that again.

As she walked, Adaria allowed her wild senses to test the forest around her. Night creatures sang their lullabies to each other as she walked, torchbugs glowing like floating lamps in the growing dark on either side of her. The sky was clear tonight, and stars shone brightly like gems on navy blue satin. She could smell the earth, feel the cool night breeze brushing against her bare skin, nearly taste the sweetness of some nearby wildflowers. There was sound, and yet there was silence. She almost missed the chatty mage she had known for little more than 24 hours. Not that she would ever have admitted it.

A wolf howled somewhere in the distance, and instinctively Adaria's free hand flew to the hilt of one of her swords, her sharp dragon eyes scanning the darkness for any nearby enemies. The wind shifted ever so slightly, bringing with it the scents that wafted down from the camp she had been headed towards. And that was when she smelled it: blood. Human blood.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through her veins as the scent hit her nose, and almost subconsciously she could feel her feet picking up pace as she followed the smell. A few minutes later, the tree line fell away and Adaria blinked in the light of a lively campfire. Three dark forms slunk around on the outskirts of the camp, and they stopped and hunched down when Adaria came into view.

Immediately, the woman dropped everything she carried on the ground and drew her two swords as the creatures, she could tell they were wolves, came around toward her, growling and snapping in an almost rabid fashion. Bolar's Oathblade glowed with an unnatural light in the flicker of the nearby campfire as it bit deep into one of the wolves' necks. Adaria swerved as a second snapped at her right arm, and she drove her other sword deep into the creature's chest, the dark blade protruding through the other side of the wolf's body. Almost as if in the same move, however, the woman pulled her sword out, slinging a trail of wet crimson through the air as she spun, kicking the third wolf in the chest to stun it before driving the Oathblade through the creature's skull. The blade speared the ground, pinning the thrashing body between metal and earth, and Adaria didn't move until the body stilled.

Once she had made certain that all three wolves were dead, Adaria turned to the camp before her. It looked like a war zone. Pools of blood darkened the hard-packed earth and smeared crates and bags with a stain Adaria knew would never come out. The fire still burned strong in the pit that had been dug for it and the blood was still fresh, too, so the woman was quite sure that whatever had happened had happened not long before. A quick scan of the area revealed no signs of human life. If anyone _had_ survived, they would likely be hiding in the forest by now.

Quietly, Adaria crossed over to a stack of crates that the occupants of the camp had set off to the side, and her eyes rested on a crudely-shaped shaft sticking out of the wood. Plucking the object from its resting place, the woman held it up to the light, and her sharp silver eyes narrowed as she stared it down. An arrow. A Falmer arrow, to be exact. She had suspected that the wolves were not to blame for the gory scene around her, but Falmer…

A shiver ran down Adaria's spine as she cast the arrow into the fire and scanned the area again. There were few beings in the world that she hated more than the Falmer. Vampires were bad enough, but at least if one was bitten, there was the slight chance of surviving and living on, even if one ended up living on in a less-than-ideal state of being. Dragons wouldn't waste time killing you either. At least death by dragon would last only a few seconds. But the Falmer…Adaria had seen what the Falmer would do. Torture chambers…flesh ripped from victims still shrieking with the last bits of the life that remained in them…poison and horrendous tools of agony scattered across stone counters, lying next to bodies that just as likely died from the shock of pain as from the poison. She had seen the piles of bones, too, evidences of what the repulsive Oblivion-spawn used to keep themselves fed. No, death at the hands…paws…claws of the Falmer was something far worse than Adaria would wish even on her worst enemy, and the thought of such pain was nearly unbearable. Other enemies would leave one with the will to fight to escape; the Falmer, however, would leave one only with the hope that death came quickly.

It was hard to pick up the hint of the Falmer stench mixed in with the smell of roasting rabbit on the spit over the fire and the scent of human and wolf blood watering the hard-packed soil beneath Adaria's feet, but at last she spotted the tell-tale signs of where a body may have been dragged off to the side of the camp, and she could feel every hair on the back of her neck tingling as she stepped into the darkness in search of the trail. Despite how much she hated the Falmer, regardless of how much she would rather have walked away and continued on to Windhelm, she had to see to it that the monsters were eliminated. She had always felt that way, ever since the first time she had laid eyes on the pale, goblin-looking creatures. It was something of a fatal flaw of hers. Almost had been several times. Could yet be, too, if she wasn't careful.

* * *

The moon had climbed high in the night sky when at last Adaria managed to track the Falmer back to their lair in the hills outside of Riften. The stench that wafted up from the cave's depths made the woman's stomach roil, but she swallowed hard and cautiously stepped inside, following the rough-hewn path down into the bowels of the earth, which was the only suitable place for Oblivion-spawn such as the Falmer to lurk.

To her left and right, familiar glowing mushrooms bathed the chamber in an unnatural luminescence, providing just enough light for Adaria to avoid running into walls, but not enough for her to easily spot any traps that might be hidden along the path. And the Falmer loved traps. Almost as much as the ancient Nords, if the hundreds of crypts she had stumbled upon were any indication. Still, though, at least the Falmer traps were easier to spot. It wasn't as if the big black claws that swung out at unwary adventurers were easy to hide. Adaria could usually predict where traps might be placed. And then, of course, there was always the odd trap sitting out in the middle of the room…in plain view…in a lighted path. The Falmer might be vicious little bastards, but at least they were stupid. Most of the time.

The soft padding of feet caught Adaria's ears as she came to where the tunnel ended in a large, open room, and quietly she pressed her back against the wall, sliding over to the opening and glancing out. There were no trip wires, as far as she could see, so she shouldn't have to worry about traps, but there _were_ two Falmer warriors pacing the room beyond. Not that she couldn't take care of them. Regular Falmer were no match for the power of an angry Dragonborn.

Brandishing her swords once to test her grip, Adaria sprang out from hiding, bolting toward the two twisted creatures currently standing side-by-side in the light of the glowing mushrooms, and her lips pulled back into a snarl as they turned to look at who was approaching. The two Falmer warriors hardly even had time to snarl in reply as the woman buried her katanas hand-guard-deep into the creatures' chests simultaneously. She didn't even slow down as she yanked the blades back out, the sound of snapping ribs echoing through the empty chamber as the swords ripped clean of flesh.

She didn't stop until she reached the opposite end of the room, spinning around to be sure there weren't any other enemies hidden in the shadows. There were none, however, and quietly Adaria took in a deep breath, trying to steady the dragon soul that fluttered triumphantly inside her. She had to stay focused. Dragons were powerful in battle, but the bloodrage that seemed to consume them didn't always work in their favor. They tended to miss faster, stealthier enemies, and she couldn't afford to let that happen.

Now certain that the room was clear, the woman turned and continued further into the cavernous lair. For what it was worth, the place seemed to be rather empty. A Falmer here, a chaurus there, but nothing of particular note. Perhaps the people at the camp had merely been very weak. Merchants and common travelers were not always well-equipped to handle ambushes by even the most simple of Falmer.

How long she had been in the lair, Adaria wasn't certain, but after killing at least a dozen Falmer and a pair of chaurus, the woman at last found herself standing outside a very familiar pair of doors. Dwarven doors. Of course. Because one could hardly have a Falmer without some sort of Dwarven construct nearby. Though this lair couldn't exactly be considered "Dwarven ruins," it certainly had been used by some sort of Dwemer in times past. The doors were heavy, as usually Dwarven doors were, and fairly tightly sealed. No doubt, she could expect trouble on the other side.

Quietly, Adaria sheathed her Blades sword and pressed her now-empty hand against one side of the door. For a moment, the door held fast, but at last it began to open inward, and a moment later, the Dragonborn found herself staring into a shadowed room. A solitary fire burned at the back of the room, silhouetting a pair of bodies spread out across two stone tables, their limbs bound to their deathbeds by iron clasps. The smell of rotting flesh mingled with the stench of multiple Falmer and the slight bitterness of poison. Adaria had to keep herself from vomiting when the scents first hit her nose. The place smelled like death itself.

Gathering her nerve, the woman stepped past the doors and into the room, her eyes scanning the shadows.

_Click!_

The woman jumped back as her foot pressed down on a pressure plate in the floor. The sound of gears grinding together caught her ears and she spun around as the doors slammed closed behind her. Quickly, the woman rushed back to the doors, pushing on them, hoping that they would open, but to no avail. Damn it! Falmer traps, she had expected. Dwarven traps…well, she ought to have expected those, too, but she hadn't.

An all-too-familiar snarl caught Adaria's ears, and she dodged to the side as an arrow struck the spot where her head had been. Drawing her second sword, the woman spun around to face her enemy, but her gut twisted into a knot when she realized what she was up against. From one corner of the room, Falmer archers drew crude arrows back against stained bowstrings. Other Falmer – a dozen, maybe – came at her with swords swinging.

"Fus ro dah!"

One Falmer warrior stumbled to the side as several of its companions went sailing back against the far wall beneath the force of the Dragonborn's Shout. Adaria raised up the sword in her left hand, blocking the attack of another of the Falmer warriors who had escaped her Shout, then promptly thrust Bolar's Oathblade deep into the creature's gut. Instantly, the woman then swerved, putting the writhing body between herself and the archers as arrows sang through the air, embedding deep in the dying Falmer's back.

Quickly, Adaria kicked the Falmer off her blade and spun, slicing off the head of another of the creatures. An all-too-familiar clacking sound caught her ear, but she dodged too late, and a split second later she felt the sting of chaurus poison as it burned where it fell on her bare arms. A sizzling crack echoed through the room and Adaria yelled in pain as bolts of magic electricity shot through her body.

Her throat still dry from the Shout, the Dragonborn threw up her swords as a Falmer warmonger bore down on her, black chitin armor glistening in the dull light of the fire behind it. Steel clashed against chitin, and the woman stumbled back against the wall behind her, trapped between the warmonger and the unyielding stone surface. The creature almost laughed as it pressed in toward her, its putrid breath puffing against her sweat-bedewed face.

A feral snarl slipped through Adaria's clenched teeth and, lifting one booted foot, she launched a powerful kick at the Falmer's knee, throwing it off balance long enough for the Dragonborn to pull back the Oathblade and drive it deep through the creature's skull. She turned then, attempting to pull the blade out of the Falmer's face where it was lodged, but a moment later a searing pain shot through her left shoulder as an arrow found residence in a small chink in her armor left by the dragon's teeth earlier that day.

Instinct made her release the Oathblade as she reached back and yanked the arrow out of her flesh. Another splash of chaurus poison doused her neck and cheek in liquid fire, and with a roar, Adaria leapt forward, driving her remaining sword through the deadly insect. Its pinchers snapped up at her as it struggled to get free from the blade that pierced it, cutting at the woman's injured arm before going limp.

Just then, the sound of a clinking, hissing machine started up off in the far corner, and as the remaining Falmer warriors bared down on her, Adaria spotted a Dwemer centurion pulling itself from its resting place, steam spewing as ancient gears ground together.

Damn it. This was Hermaeus Mora's fault. It had to be. No one told a daedric lord to shove his false promises up his ass without reaping their due reward. This must be hers. Or maybe it was Nocturnal for all the thieves Adaria had hunted down and killed in the name of the jarl. Or…well, it might also be Vaermina. Adaria _had_ wiped out all of her remaining priests and then subsequently drunk an entire bottle of wine while she watched that priest of Mara, Erandur, effectively destroy the daedric prince's means of fun. Yes, thinking about it now, Adaria was quite sure that all of Oblivion had rallied together for this one grand finale. Perhaps they thought to watch her slowly get hacked to pieces. Well, she had defied them before. She would do it again.

Letting out an enraged battle cry, Adaria leapt forward, ripping Bolar's Oathblade out of the Falmer warmonger's skull before bolting toward her oncoming foes. She ducked as two Falmer blades simultaneously sang above her, then turned and slashed both of her swords outward, bracing herself as she felt flesh give way and bones snap. Two arrows shot toward her, one bouncing harmlessly off her dragonscale armor, the other wedging in her right knee. The woman stumbled as the pain exploded through her leg, but she only slowed down for a minute, hacking and slashing her way toward the archers on the far side of the room.

As she neared them, the archers threw their bows to the side in favor of swords, but in the time it took them to draw their blades, the angry Dragonborn had already crossed the room. Quickly, Adaria threw herself forward, stabbing one Falmer in the gut and cutting off the head of the other before it could get away.

As the Falmer's head skittered off to the side, there came a heavy thud from behind, and Adaria turned only in time to meet with a face-full of scalding steam. The woman threw up her arms to shield her face, leaving her front wide open, and a moment later she heard a sickening series of snaps as one of the centurion's arms slammed into her chest. The metallic taste of blood wetted the Dragonborn's tongue and she stumbled backward before falling to one knee, her arm pressed against her chest in an effort to ease the sickening pain.

Damn it, but where was that mage when she needed him? Adaria might have laughed at herself, if she even knew how to laugh and if she had not been in so much pain that breathing itself was difficult. Where was the mage? Back in Riften, no doubt. Back where she had told him to go. Because she didn't want or need a follower. She didn't want or need him. That was what she had said, wasn't it? That was how she had acted, for sure.

Adaria dropped her Blades sword to the ground as the centurion started toward her again, calling up a weak healing spell and rolling to the side before the machine could do any extra damage. The warmth of the healing spell suffused her body, easing some of the pain but certainly not doing enough to keep it from reminding her that she had probably just broken every rib in her chest, and punctured a lung while she was at it, only a moment before.

The centurion stopped in place when Adaria rolled out of the way, and steam rolled in all directions as the machine began to turn. For all its strength, Adaria noted, these machines were vulnerable in that they could not move very fast.

Gathering all the energy and willpower she could muster, Adaria shoved herself to her feet and flew at the Dwarven centurion, aiming for an open spot where the red glow of the dynamo core could be seen flashing between gold-tinted gears. Bolar's Oathblade slipped lightly through the mechanism, then jolted suddenly as the gears caught on the blade and ground to a halt. The centurion jerked at the sudden stop, causing Adaria to lose her grip on the sword. She fell backward, landing heavily on her back, and before she could move, the centurion fell backward. The woman let out a piercing wail of pain as a jagged metal piece on the machine's arm broke through her armor, digging into the soft flesh of her stomach as the body of the machine landed on her left arm, steam singeing the bare skin.

For a moment, Adaria lay there, completely winded and crippled with pain. Then, slowly, she pushed the centurion's arm away from her stomach and slid her arm out from underneath its body. Thank goodness for the dragonscale armor, at least. Though she was certain the metal had punctured flesh, if the crimson river flowing toward her leg was any indication, at least it wasn't as deep as it might have been. She wasn't sure how badly injured her left arm was. It hung limp at her side, red with blood so that she couldn't tell what was burned and what wasn't.

For a moment she sat there, watching the glow of the healing spell in her good hand through one open eye. The other eye, she kept squeezed shut, a feeble attempt to ignore some of the pain. She could feel her energy draining out of her body, and a moment later, the light of the healing spell flickered out. No more majicka. She was on her own now.

Quietly, Adaria glanced toward the doors, which were still closed. Most likely, the way to open them would be with some sort of lever. She turned her gaze to the rest of the room then, and she could just make out the shadow of a lever on the far side of the room.

Of course it would be all the way across the room.

Half limping, half dragging her beaten and bruised body to the opposite end of the room, Adaria grabbed hold of the lever with her good hand and pulled.

It didn't budge.

She wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She didn't know how. Instead, the woman whimpered as the pain surged up and down her body. Already she was seeing spots. She didn't know how long she could go before she bled to death, and there was no way her meager knowledge of healing magic was going to keep her alive if she didn't get out soon.

Just then the lever groaned, moved slightly, caught on rusted gears, then slid the rest of the way. The doors across the room swung open, and Adaria collapsed against the low stone wall beside her. She had to move. She couldn't stop, couldn't go to sleep even though she so badly wanted to. She would head for Riften, if she could make it that far. It was fairly close, if she remembered correctly. Fairly close, yes, but as Adaria sat there, with the fire burning at her back, her own shadow flickering between the silhouettes of the two maimed and lifeless bodies on the stone tables, close didn't even remotely seem close enough.


	7. Chapter 7

The sound of dishes and mugs clinking together mingled with the low din of chattering voices as Marcurio leaned back against the wall behind his usual bench in the Bee and Barb. An abandoned mug of mead sat beside him as the mage slowly turned a vile of healing potion in his hand, watching as the red liquid sloshed lightly in the air pocket just below the cork that kept it from spilling all over the floor.

The Dragonborn certainly hadn't lacked for potions and ingredients. There must have been at least 500 septims worth of items in the satchel alone, mostly healing potions of various grades, and Marcurio couldn't help but wonder how much of it had been made by the bad-tempered red-head herself. That she had given him the entire satchel meant one of two things: either she had a lot of money to throw around and the ability to make mass quantities of potions easily, or she liked him so much she just had to give him all her potions to make sure he made it back to town safely. But while he certainly would have liked to think that it was the latter, he was fairly sure that it was actually the former. She _was_ the Dragonborn, after all.

He had heard stories about her before. It seemed there was nothing the woman couldn't do. There were tales of her fighting giants, bringing down mammoths in a single stroke, and battling three dragons at once. There were whispers, too, that she had tamed a dragon, visited Sovngarde, and even defeated Alduin, the World-Eater, himself. Prior to meeting her, Marcurio had simply dismissed the tales as exaggeration. The Nords were good at making mountains out of mole hills, as the saying went. If it wasn't fantastic enough for a good tale, they'd make it better. Garnishing a story was all in a day's work here in Skyrim.

But Adaria…that was her name, wasn't it? Personally, he preferred Dragon Eyes, but he was also fairly certain that if she ever heard him say it, she'd find a dozen different ways to dismantle him before he could even sneeze, so the nickname would have to be his own little secret. Adaria…Dragon Eyes… Yes, now there was a hero who lived up to her legend. Even as Marcurio aimlessly turned the vile of healing potion in his hand, he could see the Dragonborn fearlessly launching herself at the dragon, hardly even flinching as razor sharp teeth bit into her shoulder, getting up only moments after being thrown across the clearing, burying her sword deep in the dragon's skull, and basking in the light of the soul she had absorbed. Fearless, relentless, powerful…there were so many words he could use to describe her. The woman was almost like a dragon herself, tough as steel and poised to tear you apart at a moment's notice.

And yet…and yet there was more to her than that. Marcurio was certain of it. It wasn't really anything he could lay a finger on, not proverbially and definitely not literally, but it was just a feeling he got. She obviously hadn't wanted him to go with her on that treasure hunt, yet she hired him despite not knowing why she had done so. When the dragon had attacked, she had told him to leave, to protect himself, regardless of the fact that he was a grown man and she really had no reason at all to care whether he lived or died. When he had been injured, she had protected him, then given him, not one, but _all_ of her potions to ensure he got back to Riften safely. The world knew her as the strong, solemn, steel-hearted dragon-woman known as the Dragonborn. She was a legend, a weapon incarnate. But Marcurio wondered if maybe there was a gentler woman hiding beneath that impenetrable, emotionless mask.

He was still mulling over the thought when the main door to the Bee and Barb suddenly burst open, and everyone in the inn turned quickly to see what the ruckus was all about. Instantly Marcurio was on his feet as Adaria practically fell through the doorway, her left arm limp and bloodied at her side, her right arm pressed against a blood-stained area near her stomach. The skin on one side of her face was peeling and discolored, and a broken arrow shaft protruded from her right knee. The woman went down on one knee as she came through the doorway, coughing up blood which trickled down the side of her mouth.

"Gods!" Keerava exclaimed, rushing around the counter and toward the injured woman.

But Marcurio was already there.

"Here," he said, pulling the cork out of the healing potion and pressing it to the woman's lips.

On a normal day, the mage suspected the Dragonborn would have been more likely to bite him than to accept his touch, but at this moment he could see a wild look of desperation in her lackluster silver eyes. Another half hour, and she'd be dead. Of that, he was certain.

Adaria collapsed into a sitting position as Marcurio cradled her head against his shoulder. He heard someone calling for a priest of Mara, but he paid little attention to them as he yanked the cork out of another healing potion and pressed the woman to drink it. He wasn't sure what effect using a lot of healing potions might have on a person, he himself had never needed more than one at a time, but there were plenty of potions around now and ample opportunity to test that question out.

The man watched as skin melded back together along the Dragonborn's neck and cheek, slowly changing from a sickening purple back to rosy white. She was breathing easier now, too, and at last she lifted her left arm, tested her fingers a moment, then pushed away from Marcurio. She still trembled, but the familiar steely glint had come back into her eyes. Her eyebrows narrowed and she clenched her jaw as she reached for the arrow shaft.

"Couldn't even go a night without me, huh?" Marcurio teased as the woman wrapped her fingers around the broken shaft.

Her eyebrows narrowed even further as her silver eyes zoned in on what she was doing. Per usual, the Dragonborn was ignoring him.

"Even took an arrow in the knee while I was gone," the mage continued with a chuckle. "You've been busy, haven't you?"

He was sure she could hear him, even if she was doing a remarkably good job at ignoring him.

All of a sudden, her left hand lashed out at him, and Marcurio jumped slightly as Adaria's fingers clamped around his arm. He half expected her to break his arm in half out of pure irritation, but instead she just held tight as she gave one more tug on the arrow and yanked it free of her leg. At that, she released his arm and slumped to the floor with a groan.

By now a small crowd had gathered around the pair, and a moment later a priest of Mara came puffing through the open door, followed closely by Talen-Jei, another Argonian and the Bee and Barb's second innkeeper.

"Mara's mercy," the priest, Maramal, breathed in disbelief as he knelt down beside the Dragonborn. "What happened?"

"Twelve Falmer warriors, two Falmer archers, a Falmer warmonger, a chaurus, and a Dwarven centurion," Adaria replied through clenched teeth. "That's what happened." Then she pressed both hands to her face and groaned, "Oh, gods, I feel like shit."

Jaws dropped, and everyone but Marcurio glanced at one another in disbelief. The mage wasn't at all surprised, though. Leave it to Dragon Eyes to survive that sort of encounter. And without healing potions at that.

"Here, Keerava," Marcurio said, extending a handful of septims out toward the Argonian. "Let's get a room for her."

The reptilian woman accepted the money only long enough to pass it off to Talen-Jei. Then she turned and headed for the stairs. Quietly Marcurio scooped Adaria up in his arms, half-expecting her to protest and half-hoping she would. But the woman said nothing and, to be honest, the mage was quite sure she had already passed out. Too bad, he thought, because he had so many things he could have said to her right then.

Keerava opened the door to the room ahead of him, and gently Marcurio laid the Dragonborn's limp body on the bed set up against the far side of the room.

"We should clean her up and get this armor off of her," he said, glancing at the blood and grime which seemed to be caked to every inch of the bruised and battered woman before him. "We should make sure her wounds are taken care of as well. I don't think the potions healed everything."

"_We_ are not doing anything," Keerava replied, pushing the mage toward the open bedroom door. "That is a woman's business, not yours. It isn't proper for a man to see a young lady unclothed. Now off with you. I'll come and get Maramal to take a look at her wounds once she's been cleaned and dressed."

Marcurio turned as the Argonian pushed him out of the room and leaned in for a witty parting word, but he had to jump back as the wooden door slammed in his face. The last glimpse he saw was a pool of blood-red hair gathered around the Dragonborn's shoulders, rosy cheeks glistening in candlelight, her expression perfectly soft and serene. And for a moment, as the image flooded his mind, he almost wished that it _was_ his business after all.

* * *

The first thing Adaria knew when she awoke was an aching pain in her stomach, shoulder, and muscles. Just about everything, save for her head, throbbed in protest of the abuse her body had received in the Falmer lair.

With a groan, the woman opened first one eye, then the other, slowly testing stiff muscles to be sure everything still worked. Luckily, she seemed to be in operational condition, and with some effort she forced herself to sit up. Someone had cleaned the blood off of her, she was clothed in a simple dress, and though she couldn't see them, she could feel bandages wrapped around her left shoulder and stomach. Apparently she had received so much damage that even after her own healing spells, healing potions Marcurio had given her, and the priest of Mara's healing spells, she still required bandages.

Marcurio…

The memory of the man's arms wrapping around her, cradling her as he pressed healing potions to her lips, flooded Adaria's mind, and with a groan the woman collapsed back on the bed, pulling the bedcovers over her face as though that would somehow chase away the memory of that night. Never had she felt so mortified. Always before she had managed to survive on her own. After raiding the Thalmor embassy, after fighting through the waves of monsters into Sovngarde, after defeating Alduin the World-Eater on the road in front of Shor's Hall, after everything she had been through and done in the 23 years she had been alive, never had she felt so weak and exposed.

But then, never had anyone cared to help her either. In her days as a bodyguard for a nobleman in Cyrodiil, the people she had been with would have left her for dead if she couldn't move on her own. After coming to Skyrim, she had found that people were more likely to head for cover than they were to help her if they saw her wounded on the road, afraid that they would also end up in the same condition. Potions and weak healing spells were what she had relied on. She would have died a hundred different ways a thousand different times if she had relied on anyone but herself. She didn't let anyone get close. It was dangerous. For herself, if for no one else.

So why, then, had she let Marcurio hold her? She had been conscious, and had she needed to, she could have drunk the potions herself. She had been dying, it was true. She could blame it on that. She knew what it felt like to stand on death's doorstep. She had been there many times. But she hadn't died. She had still maintained consciousness until some time after the priest of Mara arrived. She hadn't _needed_ the mage's help. And yet…and yet, for as little as she knew of him, she somehow felt safe around him. And in that moment, with pain so extreme she might have allowed herself to die if not for her stubborn refusal to be defeated by something as repulsive as a Falmer or as inglorious as a machine, she had sought something foreignly human: comfort.

A low grumble rumbled up from Adaria's stomach then, reminding her that on top of everything she had been through, she still hadn't eaten for at least a day. Unless she had been unconscious for longer than that. Then at that point, who knew how long it had been?

Drawing in a few steady breaths to gain the willpower to move, Adaria forced herself to sit up again. She clenched her teeth as another wave of pain exploded from the wound on her stomach, and quietly she called up a healing spell. She could feel flesh mending back together, warm comfort flooding her aching body, and then the light faded away as she drained the last of her magic power, what little there was to begin with. Well, at least she could move without being doubled over now. It would take a few more healing spells, though, and maybe some potions, before she could say she was completely healed.

Throwing her legs over the side of the bed, Adaria wobbled to her feet, her left hand pressed against the wall for support. She tested her legs for a moment, then made her way over to the table nearby where her armor now lay. She frowned when she looked it over. There were holes and cracks all over the tightly-bound dragon scales. It would be pointless to wear the armor now. It wouldn't protect much, aside from the heart. She would be better off buying something here in town. It was a shame that she wasn't closer to one of her houses. She wouldn't have had to _buy_ armor then.

Quietly, the woman reached for the two scabbards lying next to the armor, grabbing up the one with the sword in it and looping the belt around her waist. She had left the Oathblade in the Falmer lair, but at least she still had the Blades sword to protect her. She would have to go back to find the Oathblade, though. It had been her constant companion since the day she had retrieved it from Bloated Man's Grotto, in a time long before she had discovered she was the Dragonborn, a time long before the Greybeards, and the Blades, and Alduin, and Sovngarde. She had slain the World-Eater with the Oathblade, too. She would be sorry to lose _that_ sword.

Now having some measure of security with the sword at her hip, Adaria grabbed her coin purse, which was thankfully still intact, then turned and headed out of the room, down the stairs, and into the main room of the inn below. There weren't many people about at this point. It was probably morning, Adaria thought, since most people worked during the day and drank at night. There was one person there, though, and the sight of him almost made the woman turn and go back up the stairs. She would have done so, actually, if she hadn't been so ravenously hungry.

Plastering the emotionless mask on her face, the woman strode up to the counter, taking a seat on one of the bar stools as Keerava turned to her in surprise.

"Well, look what the horker dragged in," Marcurio grinned as Adaria sat down beside him.

She didn't even look at him.

"Dying at night and walking the next morning," Keerava said with a shake of her head. "Either Maramal's healing is better than I thought, or you're good at hiding pain."

Adaria reached into her coin purse and plopped a handful of septims on the counter.

"Food and alcohol," she stated bluntly.

"Well, you can't say it was all thanks to Maramal," Marcurio noted, leaning in toward the Dragonborn. "I helped, too, you know."

He had a sort of glint in his eyes as he said it. Adaria wasn't sure what to make of the look, and she certainly didn't like not knowing how to read him.

"Do you have my satchel?" she asked stiffly as Keerava slid a bottle of mead, a plate full of bread and cheese, and a bowl of stew in front of her.

"Yes," Marcurio replied. "Although I had to use most of the healing potions on you last night."

"Understood. I can take the satchel back now."

"Are you sure that's all you want back?" the mage grinned. "Face it. You were lost without me."

Quietly, Adaria glanced over at him. Had he not turned to stretch at that moment, he might have seen the slight glint of surprise in the woman's silver eyes. He wanted to travel with her? After everything that had happened, he still wanted to leave the relative safety of Riften to wander the wilds of Skyrim with her? Was he not afraid of her power? Was he not afraid of the trouble she attracted and the enemies that dogged her every step?

Most people were eager to get away from the Dragonborn's presence. A few seemed to worship her. Many wanted to use her. But this man? He wasn't afraid of her, that was for sure. He certainly didn't worship her. In fact, she was quite sure he was confident enough in his skills to consider himself on par with her. Did he want to use her? If he did, he was decidedly good at hiding that fact. Ulfric and Tullius could take some lessons from him in that case. He definitely didn't want to kill her. If he had, he would have simply let her be the night before. Death would have taken her naturally. Maramal could not have gotten there fast enough. Though Adaria hated to admit it, she owed her life to Marcurio. Perhaps he thought to use the fact that he saved her to his own benefit. But no. Adaria was fairly certain the mage had no idea just how close she had been to death. He didn't realize he was the only reason she still lived. Or if he did realize this fact, he definitely wasn't pushing it. Yes, though no one could tell by the emotionless look on her face, Adaria was actually quite flustered now. She simply couldn't seem to figure out the man's motive.

Instead of replying to the man's comment, Adaria turned back to her meal, dipping the bread and cheese in the stew's broth and taking a big bite.

Marcurio had turned back to her by this point, and even though she wasn't looking directly at him, she could see a look of curiosity and satisfaction cross his face simultaneously.

"You're not going to deny the fact that you were lost without me?" he asked, one corner of his mouth tipping up in a lopsided grin.

Did he want her to?

"No sense in wasting words," Adaria replied, taking another bite of food before washing it down with a mouthful of mead.

"Well, that's not much of an answer, but I'll take it as a yes. And since you paid my fee recently, I suppose it's only fair that I join you once more."

Only fair. He was practically begging to tag along.

"I never said you could come with me," the Dragonborn said, pushing her empty plate away from herself and downing the rest of her mead.

"You never said I couldn't, either. But you know you need me."

Did she? She had never needed anyone before. Why would she need someone now?

Adaria motioned to Keerava and waited as the Argonian reached under the counter and handed her a second bottle of mead. Instead of drinking it, though, the woman stood up and slid the bottle across the counter to Marcurio.

"I leave in half an hour," she said quietly. "Don't be late."

And with that, she headed back upstairs to retrieve what little of her belongings she still had left. Why didn't she deny it when he said she needed him? She wasn't sure, actually. Did she need him? She didn't think so. But it had been years since she had travelled with someone. It would be good to have the company. And this time, she might be travelling with someone who wanted _her_ company, too.


	8. Chapter 8

He wasn't entirely certain why she had given him the bottle of mead. Maybe it was a Dragonborn thing, like some strange ritual to tell him it was fine for him to come along. Then again, maybe she was secretly hoping that by the time he finished the bottle, he'd be too stoned to follow her. Well, if that was the case, she was about to be disappointed. It took more than one bottle of mead to knock out Marcurio, and in any case, he had settled for stashing the bottle in his rucksack to use at a later date. One never knew when a good bottle of mead would come in handy while trekking through the wilds of Skyrim.

The sky was surprisingly clear, one or two wispy clouds suspended in cornflower blue, as the Imperial mage stepped out of the Bee and Barb in search of Adaria. Per usual, however, the woman was waiting for him just outside the main doors, elbows braced against the railing overlooking the water as she stared absently at the open sky. The scene looked decidedly familiar, and Marcurio couldn't help but wonder what it was about the sky, clear or otherwise, that fascinated the Dragonborn so much.

"Don't lean back too far, or you'll fall in," the man grinned as he came up beside her. "I don't want to have to fish you out of the lake."

The woman merely glanced at him before standing up straight and heading off toward the main gates. For a moment, the mage could only stare after her. She had apparently given up on the dragonscale armor, trading it out, instead, for some basic steel armor Marcurio guessed had been bought from Balimund. It certainly looked too new to be something she picked up from Grelka. New or no, however, he couldn't help but notice what the armor did to the Dragonborn's figure. The dress he had seen her in that morning had nearly made him drool, but the steel armor accentuated the curve of her waist like no other armor would. Now if only he wasn't afraid of her cutting off his hands…or other valuable body parts…should he "accidentally" touch her. Yes, it was official. Marcurio was certain of it. Adaria wasn't the only one destined to conquer a dragon.

The woman paused not far away, glancing back at the mage with a blank stare that could have meant any number of things, though Marcurio guessed she was wondering why he wasn't following her. Before she could suspect that he had been ogling her, however, the man trotted up beside her, and she wasted no time in setting off again.

"Where's your other armor?" Marcurio asked as the pair exited the city gates and set off cross-country toward the north side of Riften.

"Balimund," Adaria replied, her heavy steel boots crunching against a patch of brittle grass.

"Oh, so he's repairing it for you?"

"How many people do you know who can work dragon scale and bone?"

"Is that your way of saying no?"

"It is."

It was fascinating how Adaria rarely looked at a person when she spoke. Her eyes were always turned away, though Marcurio couldn't say why. Then again, maybe she only did that with him. It wasn't as if he had actually seen her carry on a conversation with anyone other than himself and Keerava, and even those moments were few and far between. Not to mention the fact that those moments could hardly have been considered conversations to begin with.

Still, though, this was the second time Adaria had allowed him to tag along, even though outwardly she seemed, at best, indifferent to him. For what it was worth, it didn't seem as though she outright hated him. In fact, he was beginning to think that maybe she _felt_ more than she expressed. And though this was not an all-together new idea to him, the possibility that there was an incredible amount of depth to the Dragonborn's otherwise empty personality made her that much more intriguing to him.

"I take it, then, that you sold the armor to him?" Marcurio prodded, dodging tree branches that Adaria pushed out of her way and seemed to have no care to hold for him.

"That's right."

"That's rather surprising. If he can't repair the armor, then what would be the use in buying it from you?"

"The armor itself is of no use to any warrior," Adaria replied, scanning the rocky outcropping in front of her before beginning to pick her way up to the top. "But the materials are valuable enough. I told Balimund that he could take the dragon scales off and sell them to Hafjorg for a small sum. It may take a master smith to create and maintain dragon armor, but any good alchemist will know what to do with the materials."

Marcurio paused just below his companion, his gaze fixed on the first stone the woman had climbed on to. A smear of dark reddish brown stained the rock's grey surface, and as the mage's eyes followed the path that Adaria climbed, it almost looked as though someone had attempted to paint a red river down the face of the rocky hillside. This had to have been the direction the Dragonborn had come from the night before. Considering the condition she had been in when she had first fallen into the Bee and Barb, it was astounding that she had managed to climb all the way down without falling to her death or bleeding out. The Dragonborn was an amazing woman. No doubt about it.

"You must be a fairly decent alchemist yourself," Marcurio continued, carefully picking his way along behind the woman.

It was a wonderful view, he had to admit.

"Passable, I suppose," Adaria shrugged, hauling herself over the edge and onto the top of the hill. "Being able to make some of my own healing and stamina potions is a beneficial skill to have, considering how few can be found in town and how many I generally need."

"So this last adventure of yours wasn't particularly unusual to you."

"This last adventure was…more extreme…than most."

Marcurio pulled himself over the edge and came to stand next to Adaria who was currently standing with her eyes trained straight ahead, her right hand resting on the hilt of the sword she still carried.

"So now what?" the mage asked, leaning forward slightly in an attempt to get a good look at the Dragonborn's face. Not as if there was ever going to be any change there.

"I have some unfinished business to attend to," Adaria responded, setting off again.

"Unfinished business? As in, Falmer who are in dire need of a little roasting?" Marcurio grinned, calling up a small bit of flame that danced in the palm of his hand. He was just itching to give those foul monsters a taste of their own medicine. It was what they deserved after what they had done to his Dragon Eyes.

"Doubtful," the woman shrugged. "I am fairly certain I cleared everything out on my own. However, considering the fact that I was without healing potions after my encounter, I had to leave behind my belongings and one of my swords. I would like to reclaim them before someone else does, if possible."

"Oh. Too bad. I was hoping to have the chance to utilize some of my arcane expertise," Marcurio pouted, releasing the spell which dissipated in a puff of pale smoke.

For a moment, Adaria didn't respond. Then she said simply, "Trust me. You will have your chance."

* * *

"I am an apprentice wizard, not a pack mule, I'll have you know."

Adaria was beginning to think that the phrase was the Imperial mage's verbal signature. At least, she was fairly certain she had heard a variation of it before.

"I suppose you think I care," the woman replied bluntly, not looking back at the man who trudged along behind her. She was beginning to realize that Marcurio was a lot more talk than anything. He would complain, sure, but if he hated it that much, he would have left by now. It wasn't as if she was forcing him to stay, and they still weren't very far from Riften.

Inaudible mumbling was the only reply she got.

Adaria's first order of business was to locate the camp where she had dropped most of her belongings, as well as the loot she had taken from the treasure chest she and Marcurio had found the day before. Though it was true that she could have carried it all just fine on her own, Adaria had chosen, instead, to divide it between herself and the mage who insisted on following her. Oh, he had protested, but he had still willingly taken what she had handed to him. Far be it from Marcurio, though, to let the opportunity for a sarcastic, or overdramatic, comment to pass him by.

The sound of Marcurio's footsteps faltered as the pair came to the mouth of the Falmer lair. The man wrinkled his nose when Adaria turned to look at him.

"The smell in this place is atrocious," the mage frowned. "Breathing that air can't be good for one's health."

Adaria almost rolled her eyes at this.

"Stay out here if you wish. I should not be long."

The woman turned to leave, and as she suspected, she heard the padding of the mage's feet a moment later.

"I never said I wouldn't go in. I mean, honestly, what would you do without me?"

_Move a lot faster, for starters_, Adaria thought to herself. Instead, she chose silence as her reply.

For a moment, the pair walked in silence, and even amidst the smell of Falmer filth and rotting flesh, Adaria could still make out the scent of nervous tension that rolled off Marcurio in waves. He was obviously frightened, so why follow her when he had no reason to? What was he trying to prove? Odd, though, that he should be more afraid of the Falmer than of an ancient dragon.

"You are afraid," Adaria said as she picked her way along a particularly dark part of the cave.

Marcurio's footsteps faltered in surprise, but only for a moment.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean what I said. You are afraid. I can sense it."

"Only a little," the mage protested. "And in any case, I'd say I'm more…alert…than afraid. It isn't like this is the first time I've explored some creature's dark and foreboding lair."

"I find it fascinating that you fear the Falmer, yet not a dragon."

"Well, dragons don't generally have the tendency to jump out of dark corners and stab you in the back."

He had a point.

"I see," Adaria nodded. "But there should be nothing left in here to attack us. If there was, it would have found me last night."

She could sense him relax just a bit.

"True. Though one never knows what kind of foul beast could have made this lair its den over the course of the night."

"Few things make a habit of taking over Falmer lairs," Adaria shrugged. "Fewer still are fool enough to eat those tainted bodies. I doubt we have much to fear."

Just then the woman caught sight of the Dwarven doors that led to the core of the Falmer lair.

"Dwarven ruins, huh?" Marcurio remarked as the Dragonborn pushed the doors open. "Try not to set off any traps, will yo-"

The woman grabbed the mage by the collar and yanked him back as he stepped through the aperture.

"Says the man who nearly stepped on a trap," Adaria muttered, releasing the man's collar and walking over to the spot where the Dwarven centurion lay in a heap.

The man glanced at the obscure little shape in the floor for a moment but remained satisfyingly silent as he navigated around the pressure plate and over to the Dragonborn's side. Already Adaria had dropped what she carried as she strained to move the heavy machine lying on the cavern floor.

"There's blood on the arm," Marcurio mused as he set his burden off to the side and bent down to take a look at the machine.

"Yes," Adaria nodded, beginning to lift the centurion up off the floor. "This is the cause of my stomach wound. It fell on top of me and punctured my armor."

"_This_ fell on top of you?"

There was disbelief in the mage's voice. The next thing the woman knew, Marcurio was beside her, helping her turn the contraption over. Dwarven metal clattered to the floor with a hollow clang as the pair dropped the centurion on its front.

"I'm glad for your armor, then," the man muttered.

Adaria paused as she pulled Bolar's Oathblade out from between the machine's gears and glanced over at the mage with mild surprise.

"Oh?"

The man's face turned a shade darker for a brief moment before he asked, "So, what's so special about that sword?"

Quietly the Dragonborn turned back to look at the dark steel sword she held in her hand. It was rather scratched and beaten thanks to the events of the previous day, but its razor-sharp edge still glowed with a dim, unnatural light. Adaria might have smiled as she looked at it, if she had known how to do so.

"This sword has been my companion almost since the first time I entered Skyrim," the woman replied, pulling a rag out of the satchel at her waist and rubbing at the dirt and dried blood still caked to the blade. "It once belonged to a fearless hero, as well. This sword has felled many an ancient and terrible dragon, has slain their corrupted priests, has tasted the blood of thousands who would have seen me dead. It is the only reason…one…of the only reasons I still live. I have no desire to abandon it here."

For a moment, Marcurio watched her in silence.

"Where did you get it?" the mage asked at length.

"It was in Bloated Man's Grotto," Adaria replied, not looking up at him. "Lying where its previous owner left it."

"What were you doing in Bloated Man's Grotto?"

Adaria could feel a chill run down her spine as she stared at her marred reflection in the surface of the damaged sword. Then with that, she sheathed the Oathblade, picked up her belongings, and turned toward the exit.

"We should head for Whiterun," the woman said as she set off back the way she had come. "I have some business to take care of there."

"You changed the subject again," Marcurio protested, trotting along behind her.

Adaria could tell he was trying to look her in the face, but instead she merely began walking faster.

"Yes," the Dragonborn replied softly as she stepped back into the dark tunnel leading out of the Falmer lair. "I did."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! So, I know I don't really comment at the beginning of my chapters as much as some other writers do, but I just thought I'd stop and say thank you to all of you who have fav/followed my story so far. Also, a special thank you to SeekerM for your lovely review. That really made my day. To the rest of my readers, please feel free to leave reviews. I always appreciate constructive criticism/encouragement. Would prefer no flames, though. Unless you're a dragon. And then I guess that's a separate issue entirely. Anyhow, here's another chapter of Dovahsil. Hope you enjoy! :)**

**P.S.: I know there are some more "modern" words and phrases in this story, particularly this chapter, but I couldn't find anything better and searching my thesaurus didn't help so…yeah…anyway, moving on.**

* * *

It was early evening the next day by the time Marcurio and Adaria stepped through the gates of Whiterun. The pair had hardly stopped at all in the time it had taken them to get there, and Marcurio was fairly certain he would be permanently crippled before they reached the center of town.

"Have you ever thought of buying a horse?" the mage asked as they passed by a blacksmith shop. "Or of taking a wagon, for that matter?"

"Useless waste of money," Adaria replied bluntly. "And if we were to be attacked, it would be a needless risk of life as well. I do not believe you understand how dangerous it is to travel with me."

"I could venture a guess," Marcurio grinned. "If the fire-breathing dragon and the dying woman I held in my arms were any indication."

The woman's face went rigid at this, and her jaw was still firmly set as she stopped in front of the door to a small house built just beside the blacksmith's shop.

"What is this?" Marcurio asked as Adaria withdrew a key from her satchel.

"A building," the Dragonborn replied, turning the key and shoving the door open.

"Obviously," the mage sighed, following after his stern-faced companion. "But why do you have a key to-?"

He couldn't finish his sentence before a woman with dark brown hair and clad in steel armor appeared at the top of a narrow set of wooden stairs leading to the second story. On her left arm she bore a steel shield, and she sported a sword on her left hip. The stern, suspicious look on the woman's face would have, in and of itself, been enough to send Marcurio running had he been alone, but the moment the woman saw Adaria she relaxed visibly.

"Welcome home, my thane," the stranger greeted, trotting down the stairs to meet the pair.

Adaria hardly even acknowledged her as she dropped all of her belongings in a cobwebbed corner and turned toward the stairs. Marcurio glanced at the dark-headed warrioress curiously before following suit and placing the things he carried next to Adaria's belongings.

The Dragonborn didn't wait for him to follow, and by the time Marcurio managed to dump everything he carried on the floor, Adaria had already disappeared upstairs. She returned a moment later with a heavy bag slung over her shoulder. The man turned to follow her, but quickly she held up her hand.

"There is no need for you to follow me," Adaria said, opening the door and stepping outside again. "I will be back."

And then with that she closed the door behind her.

For a moment, the remaining two stared at the door as though they expected the moody Dragonborn to come walking back in and ask them to follow her, but when it became apparent that Adaria wasn't coming back any time soon, the pair sighed simultaneously.

"She never lets me come along," the warrioress pouted, turning to the fire pit nearby. "So much for being a housecarl. More like a guard dog, it seems."

"Housecarl?" Marcurio questioned, glancing between the brooding warrioress who now stood over a cooking pot suspended over the fire and the door that Adaria had disappeared through a moment before.

"Yes," the woman nodded, standing up straight and giving the mage a stern stare. "I am Lydia, housecarl of the honorable Dragonborn, Thane Adaria. I have served my lady for over 3 years. But though I am sworn to protect my thane with my life and bear all her burdens, she hardly even acknowledges my existence. I find it odd that she would now travel with a stranger, especially a man."

He could have been mistaken, but Marcurio was fairly certain that if Lydia could have pinned him up on the wall with her stare alone, she would have done so then. She was trying hard to appear indifferent, but there was the slightest tinge of jealousy in her tone.

"Well, you shouldn't feel too bad," the mage laughed nervously. "She tries her best not to acknowledge me, either."

"And you are?"

"I am Marcurio, master of the arcane," Marcurio introduced proudly. "Also employed by Adaria."

"Employed?" Lydia frowned.

"That's right. She paid me for my services."

"By what witchery did you convince her to do so?"

"Why, my charms and good looks, of course."

Lydia raised one disbelieving eyebrow at the mage. Then she turned back toward the stairs with a huff.

"Of all the people in Skyrim," the warrioress fumed, throwing one hand up in exasperation, "of all the people her ladyship would choose to follow her, she would choose a narcissistic wizard. I don't even know anymore."

The slam of the door upstairs served as her final complaint.

For several minutes Marcurio glanced around awkwardly at the small house around him. So Adaria was Thane of Whiterun. It should not have surprised him. Dragon Eyes was the sort of woman who commanded respect merely with a passing glance, and she was certainly a hero among heroes, if the stories he had heard about her over the past 4 years were any indication. But if Lydia was, indeed, Adaria's housecarl, that could only mean one thing: this house was the Dragonborn's home. Now _that_, he had not expected.

And yet even then, Marcurio wasn't quite certain that the term "home" was applicable in this situation. The room he stood in was small and sparsely furnished. A basic fire pit was located not far from the door, warm flames flickering in the hearth. A plain table and bench had been shoved into the far right corner, and random barrels and crates lay scattered across the house. Cobwebs hung in sheets from the scant furniture and whatever dark corners they could find to call home, and the mage could see pale daylight shining between the slats of the wall on the second story. If not for the burning fire and dusted table, the place would have looked as though no one lived there at all. And then there was Adaria's response earlier. No, this place was, to Adaria, nothing but a building. But where, then, was home to the wandering legend? Or, for that matter, did she even have one? Home, after all, was where the heart was, or so the saying went, and Marcurio wasn't yet certain where the Dragonborn's heart really resided. It was somewhere, he was sure of that. But _where_?

Suddenly feeling the urge to get out of the stuffy, empty building, Marcurio opened the door and stepped out into the open street outside. Though he wasn't sure where Adaria had gone off to, he did know a good place to collect information. And where to get a good drink. Besides, Adaria had made it clear she didn't want to be followed. She had never said anything about leaving the house.

* * *

"Come on in," a woman called out as Marcurio stepped through the door and into the Bannered Mare Inn. "Have a seat at the bar or settle down by the fire and we'll bring something over. I'm sure I have a clean mug around here somewhere."

It had been a while since he had been to Whiterun, and it was only now that Marcurio realized just how much he missed the place. There was something about the Bannered Mare that was warm and inviting, a certain atmosphere that the Bee and Barb lacked. The local bard was currently strumming a relaxing tune on his lute, and local folks gathered around the roaring hearth in the center of the room with laughter and mead to spare.

The innkeeper, Hulda, slid a mug of mead across the counter as Marcurio plopped in a stool, and she flashed him a playful smile when she caught the look of surprise he gave her.

"It's been a while, Marcurio," the woman grinned, picking up a rag and rubbing down the counter.

"You remember me?" the mage grinned back, grabbing up the mug and taking a swig. "And you missed me so much that you even gave me a mug of free mead. I'm touched."

"Oh, that mug isn't free," Hulda chuckled, almost menacingly, Marcurio thought. "And of course I remember you," the innkeeper continued. "You still have a tab."

A series of coughing and sputtering ensued as Marcurio choked on the mouthful of mead he had _almost_ managed to swallow.

"But it's been 4 years, Hulda," the mage protested, setting the mug on the counter and leaning forward, slapping a charming smirk on his face for good effect. "Those were hard times. Can't we let the past be the past?"

"The past can be the past," the innkeeper replied nonchalantly. "But last I checked, your tab was still valid today, which means that technically it can't be considered 'the past.'"

"Alright, then. Out of the kindness of your heart?"

"If I ran a business like that, I wouldn't have a business to run."

"Please?"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No."

"You know you want to."

"You know I'll make you scrub every privy in town if you don't stop."

Marcurio recoiled at the suggestion.

"I'll stop begging," he squeaked, adjusting the collar of his robe as though it had suddenly become very tight.

"That's what I thought."

At that, the man sighed, reaching into his satchel and placing a bag full of coins on the counter.

"There's 300 here," he said, sliding it toward Hulda.

The woman's jaw dropped slightly. Cautiously she reached out, picking up the bag of money and glancing suspiciously inside.

"Just let me know how much more I owe you," Marcurio continued. "This one included."

He held up his current mug with a quirky grin.

"This will be enough," Hulda replied, tucking the bag securely away behind the counter. Then she swatted the mage with her rag.

"You had the money and yet you were trying to weasel out of your debt. You're such a bum."

"I prefer business-minded, myself."

"Cheap-scape sounds more appropriate to me."

"Oh! You wound me with your words."

"You'll make a full recovery, I'm sure."

Marcurio laughed at this, then put his mug of mead to his lips and took a deep swallow. Hulda eyed him for a minute, then set to drying a stack of mugs sitting behind the counter.

"So what have you been doing all these years?" the innkeeper asked, not looking up from her work. "I was beginning to think you had gone and kicked the bucket on some wild adventure."

"No, no, I'm still quite alive," Marcurio laughed. "I've been doing nothing particularly special. This and that. I got stuck in Riften shortly after leaving Whiterun. I've been there for the past 3 or so years."

"So _that's_ your problem," Hulda chuckled. "Did you get your business sense from the Thieves' Guild?"

"No," the mage answered quickly. Then, muttering, he added, "Not for the most part."

"So what brings you back after all these years? And with so much coin? It isn't like you to not be broke. Wait. This money isn't stolen, is it?"

"No, ma'am," Marcurio replied, holding up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "It's all honest pay. I finally got out of Riften because Adaria hired me."

Hulda froze at this, then slowly turned to face the mage.

"The…Dragonborn?"

"That's right," Marcurio grinned, downing the rest of his mead and wiping his mouth in satisfaction. "I'm assisting her in her adventures. And we've already defeated a dragon. _That_ was something."

"The Dragonborn actually hired a follower?" Hulda asked in disbelief. "But the Thane never travels with anyone. How did you manage to convince her to agree to that?"

"With my charms and good looks, of course," Marcurio replied coyly.

Hulda looked doubtful.

"Somehow," she said, "I find that very hard to believe."

"What is it with you Whiterun women? Why does no one believe me when I say I landed this job with my charms and good looks? Look at this," he leaned back in his seat and gestured up and down. "And I'm even a master of the arcane. Tell me you don't find this attractive."

"Ask me again after a few stiff drinks."

"Ouch."

"Still, though," the innkeeper added softly, going back to drying mugs. "You must have done something. That woman has never liked people."

"Oh? How long have you known her?" Marcurio asked, lacing his fingers together and leaning forward.

"The Dragonborn? Well, I wouldn't say that I _know_ her, but I know who she is. She showed up not long after you left with that merchant for Riften. I think she might have been more frightening then than she is now, if you can imagine that. She looked a bit worse for the wear, but they say she was one of the survivors from Helgen, so I guess that was to be expected. Tough as a dragon, that one is. And those eyes. They say the Dragonborn can devour dragon souls, but looking into those eyes, I might almost believe it if you told me she devoured human souls, too."

Marcurio couldn't help but frown slightly at this. Adaria certainly was fierce, and her eyes held a strength of spirit he had never before seen in the eyes of a human. Her dragon blood was evident in every fraction of her being, from her slitted ebony pupils to her snarls and relentless ferocity in battle. But frightening? Well, she certainly was frightening when he considered trying to get close to her or touch her. It was obvious she didn't like to be touched. He was still working on that one. But never had he thought to be scared of her. Now, her housecarl was a different story entirely, but despite Adaria's outward demeanor, Marcurio had never feared her the way Hulda did.

"So how did she become Thane of Whiterun?" the mage prodded.

"Well," Hulda replied, pursing her lips in thought. "She _did_ aid the jarl quite a bit after the dragon destroyed Helgen. I hear she retrieved some sort of…map, I think it was, that the court wizard needed from Bleakfalls Barrow out near Riverwood. Then, when a dragon attacked the watchtower, Jarl Balgruuf sent her with the defense team. That's when the rumors of the appearance of the Last Dragonborn began to spread. It wasn't long after that when the jarl named the Dragonborn Thane of Whiterun."

"So you don't know where she came from?"

"No idea. She was the jumpy sort when she first came here, though, like maybe she was on the run from someone, so who knows where she came from? I did hear something about a contingent of Legionnaires stopping in Helgen to execute some dangerous criminals the day the town was attacked. The Dragonborn…_could_ fit the description of a criminal."

Marcurio almost laughed at that. Adaria was many things, but a criminal? Surely not. He had lived over 3 years in a city full of criminals. There was no way Adaria could be one…could there? Then again, there were a lot of criminals out there who didn't actually _look_ the part. And though it felt like he had known the woman he secretly called Dragon Eyes for ages, he knew that, in reality, it had only been a matter of days. What he knew about the woman he was so fascinated by was precious little. He knew her name, though she had not volunteered it willingly. No, chance circumstance had revealed _that_ information. He knew she was Dragonborn and that her skill and fighting spirit made her nearly indestructible. He knew she liked mead and that she hated to be touched. And he was now certain that she had the worst case of antisocial disorder that he had ever seen. But other than that, he knew nothing. For all he knew, Adaria could be the worst criminal to ever walk the face of Nirn, though somehow he highly doubted it.

"I'll admit, I don't know much about her," Marcurio said, leaning one elbow against the counter and glancing back at the door to the inn. "I was rather surprised to find out that she is the Thane of Whiterun and that she has a house, too. She just seems like the wandering type."

"She _is_ the wandering type," Hulda replied, setting a clean mug down on the counter. "She may be a thane and own property, but she still only shows up a few days of every month. And even then, she only comes back to sleep most times."

"What does she do when she's not here? Other than treasure hunt, I mean."

"Your guess is as good as mine. She still does a lot of work for the jarl. There have been a lot of dragon bones and scales circulating among the local merchants, too, so I would guess she's been doing some dragon hunting as well. Other than that, I'm not sure, and I'm even less sure I want to know."

"Hmm…perhaps I should ask," Marcurio grinned, standing up and stretching. "Now if I can just find where she's hiding."

"You might try the forge up at Jorrvaskr," Hulda offered. "She worked out some sort of deal with Eorlund and the Companions several years ago so that she could use the Skyforge for her smithing. If she's in town at this hour and not at her house, she's probably at the Skyforge."


	10. Chapter 10

The clang, clang, clang of metal against metal, followed by the roar of a fierce fire, met Marcurio's ears long before he spotted the form of Adaria bent over a giant pool of molten amber. She was still clad in her steel armor, a sheen of sweat glistening on her face, neck, and arms as her arm worked up and down with each fall of the hammer.

"I didn't know you were a blacksmith, too," the mage chuckled, pausing a few feet away and glancing into the burning coals of the Skyforge. "Is there anything you _can't_ do?"

The woman glanced over briefly before dunking the piece of metal she worked with into a bucket of cool water.

"I thought I told you not to follow me," she said, watching as steam rose up from the water.

"Well…_technically_ you said there was no _need_ to follow you. You never actually said I couldn't."

A sigh escaped the woman's lips as she turned back to her work, placing her craft into the Skyforge and working the bellows until tiny flames began to flicker among the coals.

"So," Adaria said as Marcurio crossed over to a stone table space to the right of the forge and sat down, "why are you here? The Bannered Mare has plenty of drink and entertainment. Surely you do not need to bother me."

"Tsk," the mage replied, wagging a finger at her. "Here I came all this way to keep you company, and you say I'm bothering you. I thought about spending all night drinking and partying, but I was afraid you would be lost and lonely without me."

"As if," Adaria snorted, pulling the metal from the coals and beginning to hammer again.

"So cold," Marcurio grinned, beginning to fiddle with a shield lying idly off to the side of the stone table. "Actually, I was already at the Bannered Mare. That's how I found out where you went off to. One of the locals told me."

"I see," Adaria replied. "My behavior here is, unfortunately, rather predictable. Though I still fail to see why you are here."

"I don't know. Maybe I just want to be here. I'm not actually in your way am I?"

At this the woman paused in what she was doing and turned to look at the man sitting nearby. With her back to the forge, the light of the fire cast a dark shadow over Adaria's face. But even still, Marcurio thought that, for a brief moment, he saw a gentle expression cross the woman's face.

"No," the Dragonborn replied quietly, turning back to her work. "I suppose that, for the time, you are not in the way, at least."

* * *

What was it about this man that disarmed her so much?

_Maybe I just want to be here_.

What did he think to gain by staying with her at nearly every moment? While it was mildly pleasing to think that he simply enjoyed her company, Adaria knew better than to hope for that. After all, she was different. She belonged nowhere, neither among humans nor dragons. Anyone who associated with her had some sort of purpose. Everyone wanted something from her. No one ever wanted _her_. The closest she had ever gotten to having a friend was Jarl Balgruuf, and that was little more than a business relationship. Well, there had been one other, but that was far in the past. This leech of a mage must have some reason for sticking around. She just wasn't yet sure what that reason would be. Yet.

Adaria watched out of the corner of her eye as Marcurio sprawled across the stone table where Eorlund frequently dropped odds and ends, his arms folded behind his head, one leg crossed over the other.

"So, someone told me you were at Helgen when the dragon attacked," the mage said suddenly.

Adaria could feel a chill run down her spine at the man's words. That was a topic she avoided at all cost. He didn't need to know. No one needed to know. No one needed to know why she had been in Helgen the day Alduin made his appearance. She wished that she herself could forget it. She should have died there that day. Some times, she wished she had. But leave it to Marcurio to bring up the things she wished to forget most.

"That is what they say," Adaria replied stiffly.

"I'm guessing it's true then."

"Who knows?"

Marcurio chuckled slightly.

"You are a master at avoiding conversations," he muttered, sitting up again.

For several moments the only sounds that broke the stillness of the night were the chirping of the night creatures and the echoes of the forge and anvil as Adaria worked. Then, as she put what she was working with back into the bucket of water, the Dragonborn turned back to look at the mage who had been watching closely as she worked.

"I am surprised you did not continue pressing for answers," she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Did you want me to?" the mage replied, flashing the woman a playful smile.

"No," Adaria replied quickly, crossing her arms over her chest and turning to stare into the forge. "I was merely stating a fact."

"Yes, well, I think I've learned by now that trying to get you to tell me something you don't want to talk about is like trying to talk a mammoth out of its tusks. I didn't see a point in prodding."

"I see."

There was a quiet pause, then Marcurio asked, "So what are you working on?"

"More dragonscale armor," Adaria replied, pulling what she had been working on out of the bucket and shooing the mage away from the stone table.

Marcurio's jaw dropped slightly as the Dragonborn picked up the bag she had left the house with and dumped the contents on the stone table. Dragon scales, leather strips, pieces of ebony, and other odds and ends clattered to rest on the hard surface.

"Wait. You _made_ that armor? But I thought you said it couldn't be done."

"I asked you how many people you knew who could work with dragon scale and bone. I never said it couldn't be done."

"Right," Marcurio chuckled with a shake of his head. "Beat me at my own game. You're good."

"I could beat you at most anything," Adaria replied stoically as she began to arrange the various items into the semblance of a breastplate.

"Oh, ho!" The mage's eyes lit up at this. "Is that a challenge?"

"Merely a statement."

"I think it _is_ a challenge. But don't worry. I'm fairly certain there is something I can beat you at."

Was it just her imagination or did his voice have a slight tinge of coyness in it? He certainly was looking at her strangely.

"Suit yourself," the woman responded, continuing to fiddle with the pieces she was going to use for her new armor. "Don't blame me if you get hurt for it, though."

"Oh, I'm not too terribly worried."

Adaria was suddenly very aware of Marcurio's presence just behind her, his warm breath fluttering against her bare neck. Was he trying to intimidate her? She wanted to shiver at the strange sensation, but she forced herself not to respond. She refused to let him see even a semblance of weakness in her. The night he saved her life was mortifying enough as it was. She would not tolerate any more of those experiences.

Almost as soon as he did that, however, he stepped away again, and Adaria suddenly realized how cold it felt standing away from the body heat of her companion and the warmth of the fire in the forge.

"You should return to Breezehome," she said, picking up a couple of pieces of forged steel and dragon scale and returning to the anvil.

"Breezehome?"

"Yes. The house that I took you to earlier. It is rather cool out tonight and getting rather late. I should be finished and ready to move on by the morning. You ought to sleep while you can."

"What about you?" Marcurio inquired, frowning slightly. "I didn't see you sleep at all last night and we travelled all day today. Don't you think you should get some sleep, too?"

"Are you saying you were watching me all last night?" Adaria asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, not exactly," the mage replied, clearing his throat nervously. "I was just saying. You know, sleep is a very valuable part of human life. It isn't healthy to stay awake all the time."

"You needn't worry about me," the Dragonborn sighed, returning to her work. "I have been this way for years. A night without sleep is nothing to me."

"That can't be good for you. Any particular reason?"

Adaria watched as her hammer fell deftly against the metal she was pounding into shape.

"Yes," she replied softly. "There is."

"And?"

"And that is all."

Marcurio gave the woman a puppy dog look and a pout, but when it was obvious that that was getting him nowhere, the mage sighed and plopped down on the ground out of the way of the woman's workspace.

"Oh well," he huffed. "I tried. But I suppose I have no choice but to sleep out here tonight. I mean, who else could defend you if you were to suddenly be ambushed by some nefarious fiend?"

"Um…me," Adaria replied, glancing over at him with an almost bored expression.

"Not good enough," Marcurio responded, waving his hand as though waving off her suggestion that she could take care of herself. "I will stay here to protect you."

And in a moment, he was asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey, everyone! Sort of fell into a funk there for a while, but I'm back and I've got several chapters in the works as I type this. Thank you so much to all of you who have fav/followed my story. I think I've said that before but thanks again. I'll try not to repeat myself too much. A special thank you, also, to FrizFr0z for your glowing review. Actually, "thank you" isn't enough. But I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the encouragement.**

**One thing I wanted to note, though, is that the term "stoned" can actually mean "drunk", though I didn't realize that it was an uncommon meaning until FrizFr0z pointed it out. My brother also said he didn't realize it had that meaning, so I apologize for the confusion. I'll try not to use words like that too much, but if I do, I'm sorry. Anyway, hope you enjoy the story, and thanks for reading!**

* * *

The sound of the Companions training in the courtyard below stirred Marcurio from his sleep. The mage yawned and stretched stiff muscles, then opened his deep brown eyes and glanced around at his surroundings. Where was he? His eyes landed on a slim figure hunched over nearby. It was Adaria. Her back was pressed against the low stone wall of the Skyforge, one leg stretched out, the other propped up. Her right arm lay in her lap while her left hand rested on the scabbard of Bolar's Oathblade that she had placed at her side. Her head was bowed, her chin pressed lightly against her chest, her long, blood-red hair spilling over her shoulder. Marcurio had never noticed how long her eyelashes were before, but now, as he stared at the woman sleeping so close and yet so painfully far from him, he noticed how the dark lashes outlined her eyes. And for a moment, the man hardly even dared to breathe for fear of disturbing her.

"Keep that arm up!" one of the Companion leaders in the training yard below shouted at one of his trainees.

Instantly Adaria's silver dragon eyes flashed open and she heaved a sigh as though frustrated at being disturbed. Then she glanced over at Marcurio out of the corner of her eye.

"Good morning, Sunshine," Marcurio grinned, leaning over toward the woman next to him.

Her gaze was unchanging, almost as though she was frozen in time.

"What were you staring at?" she asked suddenly.

"You."

"Obviously. Why?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Yes. Because."

The woman heaved a sigh, then slowly she hoisted herself to her feet and began to stretch.

"I'm touched that you kept me company all night," Marcurio smiled, standing up and crossing over to the dragon-eyed woman.

"Well, I wasn't going to carry you back, and I would hate to know what the Companions would do if they found some strange magic-wielder sleeping next to their forge. I don't imagine it would be a very pretty sight."

"So rather than wake me up, you chose to stay out here with me. Aren't you sweet?"

For a split second Marcurio thought he saw a tinge of red spread across the woman's face, but if it _had_ been there, it disappeared as soon as it came.

"Don't push it," the Dragonborn said, lifting her new armor onto her shoulder. "There's a forge right behind you that still has burning coals in it."

"You know you wouldn't do it," the mage chuckled, following after the stern-faced woman.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Marcurio trotted after her as she headed off toward the steps leading away from the Skyforge.

"When did you finish your armor?" he asked as they came up in front of the Companions' mead hall, Jorrvaskr.

Adaria paused in front of the aged building, staring down at the withered form of the Gildergreen in the courtyard below. She glanced at the sky briefly, then continued walking.

"Perhaps an hour ago," she responded.

"I'm not sure whether to be impressed or perturbed," Marcurio frowned. "It's incredible that you could finish a project like that in the course of a night, but you can hardly say you slept if it was only for an hour."

"Sleep is sleep," Adaria replied stoically, "regardless of how long or short a time it lasts. And as for being impressed or perturbed, I could hardly care less if you chose to be both."

"Oh, good. I was worried I'd have to choose."

The woman glanced at him languidly, one eyebrow raised, but didn't respond as she turned her eyes back toward the path in front of her.

The pair were just reaching the top of the stairs leading down to the town square when a piercing scream rent the still morning air. It was followed closely by the shouting of guards and other townsfolk.

Instantly Adaria darted forward, Bolar's Oathblade flashing in the first rays of the early-morning sun as the woman pelted down the stone steps. Marcurio followed at her heels, summoning a flame spell in each hand…just in case.

It was hard to tell who was fighting whom when the mage first reached the town square, but Adaria seemed to have no trouble figuring out what was going on. Without so much as blinking, the dragon-eyed woman dropped her newly-made armor at the edge of the town square and flew into the fray in what seemed to be one fluid motion, a blur of crimson in the midst of chaos. And it was obvious that she had singled out one target in particular.

It was a man. Marcurio was certain of it. The moment Adaria flew into the fray, the target, clad all in strange black armor, bared down on a little Imperial girl cowering against the stone wall of the well in the center of the town square. Looks-wise, he seemed to Marcurio to be just an average Nord. Paler than most, perhaps, but normal. Normal, that is, until the man opened his fanged mouth and flew at the child's neck.

_A vampire?!_

Marcurio lunged forward out of instinct, but Adaria was already there. The creature was only inches from sinking his teeth into the little girl's neck when the Dragonborn's left katana pierced straight through the vampire's skull. If it were even possible to survive such a wound, which Marcurio highly doubted, the monster certainly couldn't have survived what followed as Adaria yanked her sword back out, snapping the vampire's neck in the process. A split second later, the vampire's thrall, a bandit by all appearances, fell to a guard's blade and the chaos in the town square stilled, everyone staring at the lifeless forms in stunned silence.

"You all right, kid?" Adaria asked, glancing over at the little Imperial girl.

The child nodded with a frightened whimper.

Quietly the dragon-eyed woman turned to the inert form of the vampire she had killed only a moment before, using the tip of the Oathblade to part the creature's lips and reveal the stained, fanged teeth behind them.

"Good," she grunted.

"Aren't you going to ask how I am?" Marcurio grinned, releasing his flame spells and coming up beside the stoic warrioress.

She glanced at him only briefly before replying, "I don't recall you even helping. I hardly think I need to ask about your condition."

Then with that she turned to a nearby guard, ignoring the pout the mage was now directing her way.

"What sort of vampire is this?" she asked, her silver dragon eyes narrowed and serious. "I've never seen any attack in town and during the day before."

"Damned if _I_ know," the guard replied, removing his helmet and wiping sweat from his face with the back of his arm. "They came out of nowhere. Didn't even realize there was a vampire in the mix at first. You'd think they'd at least be afraid to come out during the day."

"One would think."

Quietly Marcurio knelt beside the vampire Adaria had killed. It was hard to tell much about the creature's face, considering the amount of damage the Dragonborn's sword had dealt, but there was something noticeably ancient about what remained.

"Any ideas, Mr. _Master Wizard_?" Adaria inquired, glancing down at the mage as he began to dig through the pockets of the vampire's dark armor in search of any clues, or valuables, that might be on the creature's person.

The man paused at her question long enough to raise a chiding finger at her.

"I resent the implications of the tone of your question," he protested. "I am, indeed, a master wizard. No need to turn the term into mockery." He then continued what he was doing and said, "As for why a vampire would be out during daylight hours, I have no idea. Theoretically, it could be some sort of newly-developed spell, a…cloak…of sorts, which would protect them from the sun. If that _was_ the case, though, I would have no way of knowing, considering the fact that you decided to turn him into a shish kebab."

"Forgive me for not asking your permission first," Adaria replied sarcastically. Then turning to the guard again, she asked, "Do you have any idea where they might have come from? Some sort of nearby cave or ruined fort I might be able to find information in?"

The guard looked doubtful, but a moment later another guard came up alongside them.

"You might try the Broken Fang cave out near that giant's camp west of the city," the second guard offered. "I've heard reports of travelers and local farmers disappearing in that area, namely at night. Might be bandits, except that valuables are rarely stolen, so I doubt it."

"Very well," Adaria nodded. "I'll start there."

She paused to glance back at Marcurio who was now giving her a pout and a pair of puppy-dog eyes he was sure would even turn the heart of a hagraven; which Adaria most certainly was not, he mentally noted, if for no other reason than as a precaution in case the Dragonborn could read minds, too.

The woman stared at him with her usual emotionless expression for a moment before sighing and turning toward her previously discarded dragonscale armor.

"And," she added with the slightest hint of exasperation, "I suppose I will have to bring you along with me, as well."


	12. Chapter 12

She still remembered the chill of death that lingered in Alduin's mists that had blanketed and darkened the landscape of Sovngarde, still remembered the heat of the dragon lord's fire breath as the flames singed the hairs on the back of her neck, still remembered the uncharacteristic trembling in her arms and legs as she watched the beast's slain body go up in a roar of ash and fire. Adaria had thought then that she would find no other adversary so frightening. She hadn't counted on Marcurio.

Those mournful brown eyes were something, all right. Adaria had never really seen someone give a "puppy dog face" before, though she had heard about such a thing from time to time. Marcurio, though, she was sure had some sort of secret behind his. This was already the second…third?...fourth?...time he had coerced her into letting him tag along. The company was fine, though she wouldn't tell him that, but there was definitely something different about Marcurio's eyes. A mind-controlling or will-bending spell, perhaps? She had definitely noticed a strange feeling whenever he looked at her that way. She wouldn't have called it "magic" per say, but he _was_ a mage after all. She hadn't known the man very long. He could have any number of powers.

"You know, there used to be an old dragon burial site out here," Marcurio mused as he trudged along behind the stern-faced woman, effectively breaking her away from her current trail of thought.

"I never was much interested in the dragons back when I was studying Nordic ruins and mythology for the University," the man continued. "Actually, I wasn't even sure that dragons had ever existed. Back then, I felt that my extensive study of the ruins and history of the ancient Nords would be the only information of real importance to me, but now I wonder if those old burials might hold some sort of clue about the return of the dragons." He chuckled slightly. "I suppose there are a few things left in the world that I still don't know. Surprising, right?"

He only sounded half sarcastic.

"The burial mounds hold nothing of value," Adaria replied, dropping down over a low ledge and continuing on at her usual brisk pace. "Not anymore, at least. And it isn't as if we need information about the return of the dragons. That was dealt with years ago."

"You mean the defeat of Alduin, right?"

The Dragonborn nodded solemnly.

The sound of hurrying feet caught Adaria's ears, then, and she turned as Marcurio came up beside her, his deep brown eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"So it's true then? You _actually_ fought the World Eater himself?"

The man had the curiosity of a child, though that was a weak comparison, considering most children were too afraid of the Dragonborn to ask her about much of anything. Powerful, legendary heroes, Adaria had decided, would always be treated the same: objects of fear and fascination celebrated in death but set apart during life as trophies or gods. Never human. Unless one was speaking to Marcurio. Adaria was actually beginning to wonder if Marcurio was, indeed, human. Actually, now that she thought about it, she wouldn't put it past him to declare that he was above average humanity thanks to all his vast wealth of knowledge and power he claimed to have. In fact, judging by what she already knew about her new-found shadow, she was almost willing to wager that he was the only mortal that could potentially out-ego a Daedric prince. And Adaria had crossed paths with enough of those to know what she was comparing.

Paarthurnax had said once that Adaria had fulfilled her destiny by destroying Alduin. She herself had never been a believer in destiny. She had merely fought against Alduin because she could, because, despite her mortal frame, her dragon soul had danced at the thought of defeating one so legendary as the World Eater. However, if Adaria _had_ believed in destiny, she had to wonder why fate would choose someone like her and not someone like Marcurio, someone with the pride and confidence of a dragon, and not just the soul of one.

"Did you not believe I have the ability to defeat one such as Alduin?" Adaria asked as the pair continued to trek across the plains outside of Whiterun.

"Oh, I believe you could," Marcurio replied with a grin. "I just wasn't sure I believed this Alduin actually existed. I mean, you know how the Nords love to blow tales out of proportion. No offense."

So that was it. It would make sense, then, why he didn't seem so frightened. If he didn't believe all the stories he had heard about her, true or otherwise, of course he would have viewed her as more human than she actually was. Now, though…? Well, he had seen her absorb a dragon soul and he had still insisted on following her around. And she was beginning to think he was too brain-dead to know danger when he saw it. Perhaps knowing this much about her would not cause him to fear her. She certainly didn't want to give him reason to, though. No, she had already said too much. And with that, she clamped her jaw firmly shut.

For a moment, the pair walked in silence, Marcurio straining to get a good look at the Dragonborn's face. He looked concerned now. Perhaps she had been a bit too harsh. Adaria might have opened her mouth to offer some sort of reassurance that she was, at least, not offended, which was probably what he was worrying over right about now, but at that moment the cool tundra breeze shifted slightly, bearing with it an all-too-familiar scent.

Instantly the woman put her hand up in a "stop" motion, nostrils flaring as she tested the wind for the direction of the odor that nearly overpowered her good sense. Marcurio frowned slightly, leaning forward and glancing around in confusion.

"What is it?" he whispered, his fingers flexing, no doubt in preparation for some sort of spell.

"Death," Adaria replied lowly. "I smell death."

Damn it, but he had done it again. Or at least, he thought he had. He wasn't quite sure.

Adaria was a tough book to read. One minute Marcurio thought he had loosened her up enough to make her comfortable to talk to him, and the next thing he knew, she had clamped her mouth firmly shut again. Perhaps the Nord comment had been too much? That didn't seem right, though. It was true he hadn't known the Dragonborn for very long, but she didn't seem the sort to take offense very easily. Was it something else he had said? He had only asked if she had really defeated Alduin, the one the legends named 'World Eater' due to the belief that the great black dragon would one day swallow the world, resulting in the birth of a new one. There was always the chance that his doubt may have caused her icy reaction. Then again, however, there was also the fact that the woman seemed to go rigid whenever he brought up the topic of dragons. It could have something to do with that.

Marcurio was about to ask what he had done wrong when Adaria froze in her tracks, her slitted ebony pupils dilating and contracting ever so slightly. Her nostrils flared then, too, almost like a wolf on the hunt. It wasn't the first time Marcurio had noticed it. There were all sorts of subtle signs that there was something different about Dragon Eyes. The flaring of nostrils with the shifting of the wind, the twitch of an ear at the first hint of a distant sound, the low, guttural growl that emanated from the woman's throat when she was angry or threatened, the menacing, feral glint in her eyes when she was caught up in the heat of battle. She was as wild as the land itself, and Marcurio couldn't help but wonder if Adaria ever sensed the world as a dragon would. Though he had never personally asked one, in lieu of the fact that dragons seemed to have a nasty habit of roasting people alive, the mage would not have been surprised to find out that dragons did, in fact, have heightened senses. If that was true, it would also make sense for Adaria to have heightened senses as well, a thought that almost…almost…made him jealous.

But of course, now was not the time for jealousy. Adaria obviously sensed something, most likely something dangerous, and Marcurio knew he would have to keep himself on his feet so as to be a help and not a hindrance should danger find them.

"What is it?" the mage inquired softly, flexing his fingers in preparation to summon whatever spell might be necessary.

Her answer sent a chill down his spine.

"Death," Adaria responded. "I smell death."

"Death?" Marcurio questioned as the pair set off at a light jog. "What do you mean? Like blood, or rotting flesh, or-?"

"Death," the Dragonborn interrupted. "Vampires have the scent. It occurs in other places too. Draugr halls and the like. But vampires have a particular variation of it."

The mage let out an exasperated sigh.

"Has anyone ever told you that your description skills are woefully lacking?"

"I was trained to slice things to ribbons, not talk them to death."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing at all."

Adaria drew her swords then, trotting to a stop next to a boulder and glancing around. She scanned the area briefly before stepping forward, her body tense and alert.

"This is it," she said. "And it's about the right place for Broken Fang Cave, too. My guess is that the vampire from this morning originated from this den."

Marcurio had to swallow hard to keep from feeling nauseas. The stench of roasting flesh that frequently emanated from his defeated opponents was bad enough. He had never much liked the smell, but he had learned to tolerate it over the years he had spent as a mage-for-hire. Yet even that could not have prepared him for the stench of rotting flesh that wafted up from the depths of the vampires' den. It nearly made the Falmer lair smell like a bed of roses. Nearly.

"Be prepared for anything," Adaria said, sheathing her swords again and setting her rucksack up against the nearby boulder.

"Vampires aren't much for light," she continued, digging through her rucksack in search of something in particular. "My guess is it will be rather dark and disorienting inside. The bastards have some nasty spells at their disposal, too. They're particularly fond of scattering skeletons all over the place that they can raise up at a moment's notice, so watch where you step." She sent him a pointed stare. "And I don't suppose I need to warn you about the fangs."

"No," the mage chuckled nervously. "I am quite aware of that aspect of vampirism. I take it you've fought them before."

"Vampires are a damned nuisance all over Skyrim," Adaria responded. "The more time one spends out in the wilds, the more likely you are to cross paths with one. Dare I ask how many times you've fought vampires?"

For a split second, Marcurio could feel himself panicking. Well, the truth was he had never even seen a vampire until that morning, and one could hardly say he had actually fought one. But it wouldn't look very good if he admitted that, either. No, it was now time for a classic Marcurio save!

"Not as many times as you have, I'm sure," he answered smoothly, trying to erase all evidence of panic in his voice.

Adaria sighed as she stood to her feet, a torch in hand.

"In other words, never. I suspected as much."

"I never said that," the mage protested.

"You didn't need to. Here. Light this," the woman commanded, holding the unlit torch out toward him.

Marcurio blinked at her in surprise before crossing his arms over his chest in mock indignance.

"What do you think I am, a human match?"

"Don't tell me the 'Master of the Arcane' can't light a simple torch," Adaria snorted.

"Don't tell me the Dragonborn can't summon a little fire," the mage grinned back.

"Trust me," the woman sighed, the unlit torch still outstretched, "you do not want me to try and light this thing. Now hurry up before either I turn you into a human torch or we both end up as lunch for a cave full of hungry vampires."

Neither suggestion sounded pleasing to Marcurio, though the Dragonborn's threats did seem slightly empty.

"Very well," the man sighed, more for show than anything, as he reached out to take the torch from the woman's outstretched hand. A mage had his pride to defend, after all, even if he really would have acquiesced to just about anything Adaria suggested. Anything…

Wait. No. That wasn't a thought he needed to be entertaining right now.

_Think vampire: nasty, blood-sucking, cannibalistic Oblivion spawn._

Blood-sucking…hmm, that mental picture was not helping him any, either.

Almost subconsciously, Marcurio shook his head as though to be rid of the thoughts racing through his mind. Quickly, he lit the torch and handed it back to Adaria, hoping that the blush he felt spreading across his face was mere imagination and not actually visible. The dragon-eyed woman shot him a questioning glance, but he waved at the air as though to dismiss any possible inquiries as to his behavior.

"Flies," he explained, pretending to be scanning their surroundings as he looked anywhere but back at the woman he secretly called Dragon Eyes.

"I see," Adaria replied, stepping toward the entrance to the cave, drawing Bolar's Oathblade as she went.

If she had suspected anything about his odd behavior, she made no indication of it.

"Alright," the woman said, testing her grip on the katana's handle, the blade flashing patches of sunlight in all directions. "Let's kill these bastards. Once and for all."


End file.
